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UESTS*OF*TME*  vEURT 


EDITED  BY  A.  CRAIG. 


AUGUSTA,  MAINE: 
E.  C.  ALLEN. 


Copyright, 
E.  C.  ALLEN. 


^fe^imODUCTIOI.'.^- 


HIS  volume  of  sw  eet  and  comforting  hymns  will  find  a  glad 
welcome  in  multitudes  of  homes,  where  the  vacant  seat  is 
a  continual  reminder  of  the  filled  seat  in  Heaven,  and 
where  the  hand  of  sorrow  has  shut  the  heart-door  against  the 
voices  of  the  world,  in  order  that  the  soul  might  become  more  sen- 
sitive to  the  voices  of  the  Guests  within.  It  is  a  truth,  which  we 
learn  only  with  added  years,  and  as  the  fruit  of  divine  chastenings, 
that  our  wealth  and  our  happiness  come  not  from  the  outside,  but 
are  a  heart  possession,  received  ■  only  from  the  liberal  hand  of 
a  spiritual  experience,  and  that  in  proportion  as  we  are  stripped  of 
visible  comforts  and  joys,  we  grow  rich  in  inward  sources  of  joy, 
which  more  than  compensate  for  these  light  and  momentary  afflic- 
tions. This  statement  may  be  ridiculed  by  the  man  of  the  world, 
and  may  excite  surprise  in  the  mind  of  childhood  and  youth,  to 
whose  joyous  vision  life  is  one  long,  cloudless  summer's  day,  but 
there  is  a  large  family  of  tried  and  suffering  children  of  the  Father, 
who  know  the  sweet  value  of  sorrow  by  the  richness  of  the  fruitage 
which  has  followed  the  pruning,  and  who  can  whisper  through 
the  tears,  "It  was  good  for  me  that  I  was  afflicted." 

What  are  these  "  Guests  of  the  Heart,"  whose  voices  sound 
clearest  when  the  voices  of  earth  are  hushed,  and  in  whose  com- 
panionship we  find  a  solace  and  balm  for  disappointment  and  trial? 
Memory  is  one  of  them,  and  with  this  Guest  we  wander  through 
all  the  paths  of  former  years,  and  hold  communion  with  the  friends 


of  "  auld  lang  syne,"  until  at  times  we  almost  forget  the  Present 
with  its  shadows,  as  we  live  in  the  sunshine  of  the  Past.  Hope  is 
another  Guest,  ever  pointing  to  the  brightness  which  comes  after 
the  storm—  to  the  rest  which  will  be  sweeter  after  the  weariness — 
to  the  reunion  of  loving  hearts  in  the  Home  where  links  are  never 
broken — since  "  no  one  ever  goes  out. "  And  with  Memory  and 
Hope  as  Guests  within — the  face  of  the  one  turned  backward  to 
the  joys  that  once  were  ours,  the  face  of  the  other  illumined  witli 
the  glory  of  the  joys  of  the  near  future,  the  paths  we  are  treading 
grow  less  rough  and  dreary,  and  we  begin  to  sing,  even  "in  the 
night."  Peace  is  another  Guest,  and  the  deeper  the  waves  of  sor- 
row, the  more  precious  does  this  Guest  become  The  ocean  lias 
its  tempest-tossed  billows,  which  seem  mad  in  their  fury,  but  only 
the  ocean  has  its  quiet  depths  far  below  the  billows,  and  unruffled 
by  the  storm.  The  Christian's  peace  is  not  in  the  absence  of 
waves  of  sorrow,  but  it  is  a  profound  calm  which  is  experienced 
only  under  the  waves.  Aspiration  is  another  Guest.  When  we 
walk  in  the  sunshine  of  worldly  prosperity,  self-love  too  often 
absorbs  our  thoughts,  and  we  are  content  with  our  earthly  pos- 
sessions, thinking  little  of  spiritual  beauty  and  power.  But  sorrow 
turns  the  eye  away  from  self,  by  robbing  us  of  these  possessions, 
and  then  out  of  the  desolateness  of  our  souls  arise  longings  for  a 
higher,  grander  soul-life,  and  we  learn  the  rich  meaning  of  the 
prayer,  "Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee!  Nearer  to  Thee!"  and  thus, 
upon  the  rounds  of  our  grief,  we  climb  up  toward  the  perfect  stature 
of  a  complete  sanctification. 

But  *>f  all  the  "  Guests  of  the  Heart,"  the  chief,  the  most  beau- 
tiful is  Jesus,  the  heart's  King,  the  Elder  Brother.  And  sorrow 
reveals  his  preciousness,  perfects  His  fellowship,  makes  His  love  a 
soft  pillow  and  a  rapturous  joy.  Surrounded  by  human  friendship, 
satisfied  with  earthly  riches,  Jesus  is  only  valued  prospectively,  for 
what  He  will  be  in  death  and  in  the  Judgment.    But  when  earthly 


B2ay.   4g 


supports  are  taken  away,  and  we  lean  hard  upon  Him,  then  we 
know  His  sustaining  strength.  When  in  the  silence  of  bereavement 
we  cry,  "Speak,  Lord,  for  thy  servant  heareth,"  then  we  know 
the  richness  of  His  comfort  and  the  fulness  of  His  grace.  It  was 
through  the  experience  of  the  "  loss  of  all  things"  that  Paul  grew 
up  into  the  mighty  passion  of  that  cry  of  love,  "  That  I  may  know 
Him.''''  And  so  God  in  every  age  has  stripped  His  children  of  one 
earthly  treasure  after  another,  until  the  burdened,  heart  has  had 
"Jesus  only  "  to  rest  upon,  and  then  "Jesus  only"  has  become 
the  heart's  passionate  longing,  to  know  whom  the  loss  of  all  things 
has  seemed  a  joyous  privilege.  In  the  fellowship  of  this  divine 
Guest  of  the  Heart,  we  shall  find  our  Heaven  begun  below — a 
Heaven  whose  perfect  bliss  will  be  ours,  when  awaking  in  His 
likeness,  we  behold  Him  "face  to  face."  Till  then,  we  will  covet 
the  sorrows  which  bring  Him  closer  to  our  hearts,  and  through 
whose  chastening  we  grow  up  into  His  likeness. 

"  Sweet,  for  they  bring  me  closer 
To  the  dearest,  truest  Friend : 
Sweet,  for  He  comes  the  nearer, 
As  'neath  the  cross  I  bend. 

"Sweet,  for  they  are  the  channels 

Through  which  His  teachings  flow; 
Sweet,  for  by  these  dark  secrets, 
His  heart  of  love  I  know.'' 

Abbott  E.  Kittredge. 


Contents. 


.PAGE. 

Guests  of  the  Heart,           -      -  13 

Memories,         -      -       -  16 

Bread  upon  the  Waters,       -  21 

Bridges,  -  23 

A  Thanksgiving,                        -     ■»      luct  larcom,  29 

The  Atheist,  wm.  knox,  32 
"The  Master  is  Come  and  Calleth  for  Thee," 

SUSAN  COOLIDGE,  34 

The  Crocus  Cross,  -  36 
"He  Shall  Drink  of  the  Brook  by  the  Way," 

SUSAN  COOLIDGE,  39 

Self-Love,      -      -      -  •    -       -      -      f.  w.  fabeb,  41 

Jesus  Only,        -       -       -       -       -       -       -       l.  t.,  43 

Lines  Written  in  a  Churchyard,     -     Herbert  knowles,  44 

Yearning,    47 

Satisfied,   -  48 

There  is  no  Death,         -                          lord  lytton,  50 

Charity,      -                                 thomas  n.  talfourd,  55 


CONTENTS. 


The  Chamber  of  Peace, 
After  the  Burial, 
Living  Waters, 
The  Pilgrim,  - 
Our  Ships  at  Sea, 

Heaven  by  Littles,  ■  - 

Coming,  mrs.  b.  macandeew 

Under  the  Shadow  of  the  Almighty,        millie  colcord 


page. 

56 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL, 


FLORENCE  GROVER, 


Time, 

He  is  Pisen, 
Even-Song, 
A  Little  Longer, 
Evening, 
Trust, 

Christian's  Clock, 
The  Rose-Bud,  - 
Waiting, 

Lessons  Sweet,  - 
The  Hour  of  Death, 
Softly,  - 

The  Father's  Care  for  His  Children, 
The  Covered  Bridge, 
The  Lily  of  the  Valley, 
Casting  Anchors,  - 
Nobody  Knows  but  Jesus 
"Cover  Them  Over," 


61 

65 
67 
70 
73 
74 
81 
83 
89 
91 
94 
96 
100 
102 

KEBLE,  107 
REBECCA  RUTER  SPRINGER,  112 
KEBLE,  115 
MRS.  HEMANS,  120 
-  .      -         E.   A.   BARNES,  123 
KEBLE,  124 
DAVID  BARKER,  128 


HENRY  KIRKE  WHITE, 
HORATIUS  BONAR,  D.  D., 
MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER, 
MARY  B.  DODGE, 
RET".  I.  N.   TARBOX,   D.  D., 
JOHN  G.  WHITTIER, 


BISHOP  MANT,  130 

-   .   -  134 

FRANCES  RIDLEY  HAVERGAL,  136 

WILL  CARLETON,  141 


The  Secret  of  a  Happy  Day,  Frances  ridley  havergal,  143 


5fc 


CONTENTS. 


viii 


PAGE. 

A  Midnight  Hymn,  147 

Joy  Cometh,  -       -  149 

Suffering  and  Joy,        -  151 

Sometimes,       -   152 

Tell  Me,  Ye  Winged  Winds,        -        charles  mackay,  155 

The  Two  Sunsets,     -                       john  g.  whittier,  159 

Unspoken  Prayer,        -       -        Margaret  j.  preston,  163 

I  Would  Have  Gone,  -  165 

Grandfather's  Pet,   166 

If  and  If,  -  MARY  AINGE  DE  VERE,  169 

The  Dying  Girl  and  Flowers,   170 

My  Prayer,  173 

The  Buried  Flower,      ...         Wm.  e.  aytoune,  177 

Prayer,      -  charlotte  elliott,  181 

''Babes  Always,"   182 

Be  Kind  and  Forgiving,   189 

The  Glorified,      -  ray  palmer,  d.  d.,  190 

Only,  -  FRANCES  RIDLEY  HAVERGAL,  193 

The  Shepherd's  Voice,         -      -      -      -  -  197 

The  Vaudois  Missionary,  200 

Out  of  the  Deeps,        -  lulu  m.  w.,  203 

Lead,  Kindly  Light,  -       -  -         newman,  205 

At  Dawn,  john.  morgan,  206 

In  the  Fourth  Watch  of  the  Night,  ...  208 

The  Sunlight,  211 

The  Death  of  the  Righteous,  -       -         peabody,  215 

Rest,  -       -       -       .       -----  217 

Passing,  -      -       alice  Williams  brotherton,  218 


tr 


■♦7'—'  > — 

— 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

New  Year's  Wishes,  -  Frances  ridley  havergal,  221 
Now  I  Lay  Me  Down  to  Sleep,        -  223 

I  gO  tO  Life,       -  HORATIUS  BONAR,  D.  D. ,  226 

Old  Age,   228 

The  Guardian  Angel,  233 

For  Good  or  111?   236 

Thy  Will,  E.  NORMAN  GUNNISON,  238 

Good-Night  Wishes,      -      -      -   thomas  mackellar,  240 

Beyond,  242 

The  Time  for  Prayer,  -      -      -      -  -  244 

Rock  of  Ages,  -  246 

To  the  Comforter,        -      -      horatius  bonar,  d.  d.,  251 

The  E'en  Brings  a'  Hame,  253 

The  Bird  Let  Loose,  moore,  255 

Heaven  at  Last,       -      -  horatius  bonar,  d.  d.,  256 

Jesu,  Still  the  Storm,  -  horatius  bonar,  d.  d.,  261 
The  Grave,      ...      -        james  Montgomery,  263 

The  Tide,   mary  w.  mclain,  266 

Trust  in  the  Lord,  -  mrs.  m.  m.  lyle,  270 

Death  Anticipated,      -  272 

To-Morrow,   wm.  knox,  274 

Time  is  Short,  ...  hezekiah  butterworth,  276 
Homeward,  h.  m.,  280 


Full-Page  Illustrations. 


PAGE. 

lingering  on  the  pathway      -  18 

landscape                         ~      -      -      -      -  28 

a  comforter  in  sickness        -----  54 

"he  is  risen!"       -  -  88 

flowers  and  fruit    -  106 

"cover  them  over!"      ------  140 

landscape   158 

"O  LORD,  HOW  MANIFOLD  ARE  THY  WORKS  !"           -  176 

AWAKE  -   185 

THE  GENTLE  SHEPHERD      ------  196 

DEATH    -------  214 

THE  GUARDIAN  ANGEL,       ------  232 

THE  TRUE  COMFORTER  250 

"PEACE,  BE  STILL"                       -        -        «        «        -  260 


UESTS  +  OF+THE+  v  EART, 


J 


Guests  of  the  Heart 


OFT  falls  through  the  gathering  twilight 

The  rain  from  the  dripping  eaves, 
And  stirs  with  a  tremulous  rustle 

The  dead  and  the  dying  leaves ; 
While  afar,  in  the  midst  of  the  shadows, 

I  hear  the  sweet  voices  of  bells, 
Come  borne  on  the  wind  of  the  Autumn 

That  fitfully  rises  and  swells. 

They  call  and  they  answer  each  other, 

They  answer  and  mingle  again, 
As  the  deep  and  the  shrill  in  an  anthem 

Make  harmony  still  in  their  strain, 
As  the  voices  of  sentinels  mingle 

In  mountainous  regions  of  snow, 
Till  from  hill-top  to  hill-top  a  chorus 

Floats  down  to  the  valleys  below. 


"Utah*  a jonful  noise  unto  i\z  %axt3j  all  i\z  eartlj." 


-Psa.  xcviii,  4.  (3^ 


^Wr~  — — — <\C575 


GUESTS  OF  THE  HEART. 


(2b  05) 


The  shadows,  the  fire- 
light of  even, 

The  sound  of  the  rain's 
distant  chime, 

Come  bringing,  with  rain 
softly  dropping, 

Sweet  thoughts  of  a 
shadowy  time ; 

The  slumberous  sense  of 
seclusion, 

From  storm  and  in- 
truders aloof, 

We  feel  when  we  hear  in 
the  midnight 

The  patter  of  rain  on 
the  roof. 

When  the  spirit  goes 
forth  in  its  yearnings 

To  take  all  its  wanderers 
home  ; 

Or,  afar  in  the  regions  of 
fancy, 

Delights  on  swift  pinions 
to  roam, 


"  |Tct  tin  floobs  flap  fytix  I^anbs  :  Itt  %  Mils  be  joyful  iogetl^r." 
— Psa.  xcviii,  8. 

 j 


ft 


GUESTS  OF  THE  HEART. 


15 


(MB 


I  quietly  sit  by  the  fire-light — 

The  fire-light  so  bright  and  so  warm— 

For  I  know  that  those  only  who  love  me 
Will  seek  me  through  shadow  and  storm. 

But  should  they  be  absent  this  evening, 

Should  even  the  household  depart, 
Deserted,  I  should  not  be  lonely, 

There  still  would  be  guests  in  my  heart. 
The  faces  of  friends  that  I  cherish, 

The  smile,  and  the  glance,  and  the  tone, 
Will  haunt  me  wherever  I  wander, 

And  thus  I  am  never  alone. 

With  those  who  have  left  far  behind  them 

The  joys  and  the  sorrows  of  time — 
Who  sing  the  sweet  songs  of  the  angels 

In  a  purer  and  holier  clime! 
Then  darkly,  O  evening  of  Autum 

Your  rain  and  your  shadows  may  fall 
My  loved  and  my  lost  ones  yuu  bring  rae- 

My  heart  holds  a  feast  with  them  all 


"Mtyxz  in  a  txuvto  tljaf  sftchetlj  closer  fl^an  a  bro%r." 
— Prov.  xviii,  24. 


Memories. 


HEN  fall  the  evening  shadows,  long  and  deep,  across  the 
hill; 

When  all  the  air  is  fragrance,  and  all  the  breezes  still ; 

When  the  summer  sun  seems  pausing  above  the  mountain's  brow, 
As  if  he  left  reluctantly  a  scene  so  lovely  now  ; 

Then  I  linger  on  the  pathway,  and  I  fondly  gaze,  and  long, 
As  if  reading  some  old  story  those  deep  purple  clouds  among  ; 


Then  Memory  approaches,  holding  up  her  magic  glass, 
Pointing  to  familiar  figures,  which  across  the  surface  pass. 


'Ifet  ihiru  ms  look  x\%\i  on,  ano  let  fyinz  etreltbs  look  straight 
before  tfyzz." — Prov.  iv,  25. 


I 


MEMORIES. 


19 


And  often  do  I  question,  as  I  view  that  phantom  train, 
Whether  most  with  joy  or  sadness  I  behold  them  thus  again. 

They  are  there,  those  scenes  of  beauty,  where  life's  brightest  hours 
have  fled, 

And  I  haste,  with  dear  companions,  the  old  paths  again  to  tread  ; 

But,  suddenly  dissolving,  all  the  loveliness  is  flown, 

And  I  find  a  thorny  wilderness,  where  I  must  walk  alone. 

Thou  art  there,  so  loved  and  honored,  as  in  each  former  hour, 
When  we  read  thine  eyes  deep  meaning,  when  we  heard  thy  words 
of  power  ; 

When  our  souls,  as  willing  captives,  have  sought  to  follow  thine, 
Tracing  the  eLernal  footsteps  of  Might  and  Love  Divine. 

But  o'er  that  cherished  image  falls  a  veil  of  clouds  and  gloom, 
And  beside  a  bier  I  tremble,  or  I  weep  above  a  tomb. 

And  ever  will  the  question  come,  O  Memory!  again, 
Whether  in  thy  magic  mirror  there  is  most  of  bliss  or  pain  ? 

Would  I  not  wish  the  brightness  were  for  ever  hid  from  view, 
If  but  those  hours  of  darkness  could  be  all  forgotten  too  ? 


"llonoer  %  p;ttb  of  t\>v  feet,  anb  let  all  tb«  fcoays  be  established." 
k  — Prov.  iv,  26. 


Then,  weary  and  desponding,  my  spirit  seeks  to  rise 
Away  from  earthly  conflicts,  from  mortal  smiles  or  sighs. 

I  do  not  think  the  blessed  ones  with  Jesus  have  forgot 
The  changing  joys  and  sorrows  which  have  marked  their  earthly 
lot ; 

But  now,  on  Memory's  record  their  eyes  can  calmly  dwell ; 
They  can  see,  what  here  they  trusted — God  hath  done  all  things 
well ; 

And  vain  regrets  and  longings  are  as  old  things  passed  away ; 
No  shadows  dim  the  sunshine  of  that  bright  eternal  day  ! 


"$5ut  t\z  pat  J)  of  tbe  just  is  as  %  sjmttng  ligbt,  tfrat  slmutjj  more  j 
ar.b  more  unto  tbe  perfect  bau." — Prov.  iv,  18.  d 
V  .  -1<M 


Bread  Upon  the  Waters. 


ID  the  losses  and  the  gains  ; 

Mid  the  pleasures  and  the  pains, 
And  the  hopings  and  the  fears, 
And  the  restlessness  of  years, 
We  repeat  this  promise  o'er — 
We  believe  it  more  and  more — 
Bread  upon  the  waters  cast 
Shall  be  gathered  at  the  last. 


Cold  and  silver,  like  the  sands, 
Will  keep  slipping  through  our  hands 
Jewels,  gleaming  like  a  spark, 
Will  be  hidden  in  the  dark  ; 


li      14  Cast  tbrr  breair  upon  tbe  fosters:  for  tbon  sbalt  fina  it  after  nunu  I 

03DS."— Eccles.  xi,  i.  ^jij 


Sun  and  moon  and  stars  will  pale, 
But  these  words  will  never  fail ; 
Bread  upon  the  waters  cast 
Shall  be  gathered  at  the  last. 

Soon,  like  dust,  to  you  and  me, 
Will  our  earthly  treasures  be  ; 
But  the  loving  word  and  deed 
To  another  in  his  need, 
They  will  unforgotten  be! 
They  will  live  eternally — 
Bread  upon  the  waters  cast 
Shall  be  gathered  at  the  last. 

Fast  the  moments  slip  away, 
Soon  our  mortal  powers  decay, 
Low  and  lower  sinks  the  sun, 
What  we  do  must  soon  be  done  ; 
Then  what  rapture,  if  we  hear 
Thousand  voices  ringing  clear — 
Bread  upon  the  waters  cast 
Shall  be  gathered  at  the  last. 


(3^ 


"De  tbat  fynfy  piig  nuon  tbe  poor  Unbetb  unto  the  H'orb;  anb  t!;at 
fol)icl)  Ik  IjatJ)  gibcn  foil!  Ik  nau  Imn  again." — Prov.  xix,  17 


Bridges. 


HAVE  a  bridge  within  my  heart, 
Known  as  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  ; 

It  stretches  from  life's  sunny  part, 
To  where  its  darkness  lies. 

And  when  upon  this  bridge  I  stand, 

To  watch  life's  tide  below, 
Sad  thoughts  come  from  the  shadowy  land 

And  darken  all  its  flow. 

Then,  as  it  winds  its  way  along 

To  sorrow's  bitter  sea, 
Oh !  mournful  as  the  spirit-song 

That  upward  floats  to  me. 


tine  ege  tritkUtjj  trebn,  atib  ceasetl}  not,  fottljout  anjj 
intermission." — Lam.  iii,  49. 


And  hearing  thus,  beleaguering  fears 
Soon  shut  the  present  out, 

While  joy  but  in  the  past  appears, 
And  in  the  future  doubt. 


(Turn  tbon  us  unto  tbn,  ©  Ifora,  anb  be  sball  be  tunub;  retufo 
our  baus  as  of  olb." — Lam.  v,  21. 


BRIDGES. 


Oh !  often  then  will  deeper  grow 
The  night  that  round  me  lies  ; 

I  wish  that  life  had  run  its  flow, 
Or  never  found  its  rise! 

I  have  a  bridge  within  my  heart, 
Known  as  the  Bridge  of  Faith  ; 

It  spans,  by  a  mysterious  art, 
The  streams  of  life  and  death. 

And  when  upon  this  bridge  I  stand, 

To  watch  the  tide  below, 
Sweet  thoughts  come  from  the  sunny  land 

And  brighten  all  its  flow. 

Then,  as  it  winds  its  way  along 

Down  to  a  distant  sea, 
Oh  !  pleasant  is  the  spirit-song 

That  upward  floats  to  me. 

A  song  of  blessings  never  sere, 

Of  love  "  beyond  compare," 
Of  pleasures  flowed  from  troublings  here 

To  rise  serenely  there. 


|forb  is  mn  portion,  saitj)  mn  soul;  therefore  bill  J 
jmn." — Lam.  iii,  24. 


joj3c  in 


,.r  26 


BRIDGES. 


And,  hearing  thus,  a  peace  divine 
Soon  shuts  each  sorrow  out ; 

And  all  is  hopeful  and  benign, 
Where  all  was  fear  and  doubt. 

Oh!  often  then  will  brighter  grow 
The  light  that  round  me  lies, 

I  see  from  life's  beclouded  flow 
A  crystal  stream  arise. 


Iforo,  tljort  l)ast  pUabcb  \\t  causes  of  mr>  soul;  tj)ou  ^ast 
rebmncb  mn  life." — Lam.  iii,  58. 


1 


Iff 


A  Thanksgiving. 


r0R  the  wealth  of  pathless  forests, 

Whereon  no  axe  may  fall ; 
For  the  winds  that  haunt  the  branches  ; 

The  young  bird's  timid  call  ; 
For  the  red  leaves  dropped  like  rubies 

Upon  the  dark  green  sod  ; 
For  the  waving  of  the  forests, 

I  thank  Thee,  O  my  God! 

For  the  sound  of  water  gushing 

In  bubbling  beads  of  light  ; 
For  the  fleets  of  snow-white  lilies 

Firm  anchored  out  of  sight  ; 
For  the  reeds  among  the  eddies  ; 

The  crystal  on  the  clod  ; 
For  the  flowing  of  the  rivers, 

I  thank  Thee,  O  my  God! 


"$t  is  a  goob  tiding  to  gibe  tbanhs  unto  the  J*Torb,  anb  to  sing  praises 
unto  ibn  name,  (D  UTost  ^Lj t g b . * T — Psa.  xcii,  I. 


^55 


1  ~ 


30  A  THANKSGIVING. 


f 


For  the  rosebud's  break  of  beauty 

Along  the  toiler's  way  ; 
For  the  violet's  eye  that  opens 

To  bless  the  new-born  day  ; 
For  the  bare  twigs  that  in  summer 

Bloom  like  the  prophet's  rod  ; 
For  the  blossoming  of  flowers, 

I  thank  Thee,  O  my  God! 

For  the  lifting  up  of  mountains, 

In  brightness  and  in  dread  ; 
For  the  peaks  where  snow  and  sunshine 

Alone  have  dared  to  tread ; 
For  the  dark  of  silent  gorges, 

Whence  mighty  cedars  nod  ; 
For  the  majesty  of  mountains, 
I  thank  Thee,  O  my  God ! 

For  the  splendor  of  the  sunsets, 

Vast  mirrored  on  the  sea  ; 
For  the  gold-fringed  clouds  that  curtain 

Heaven's  inner  mystery  ; 
For  the  molten  bars  of  twilight, 

Where  thought  leans  glad  yet  awed  ; 
For  the  glory  of  the  sunsets, 

I  thank  Thee,  O  my  God! 


(Htbing  fljanks  alfoans  for  all  tjrings  unto  (&otr  antr  %  <#atb£r  in;  i\z 
q^'J^  nxmt  of  our  ITorb  $£sus  Christ." — Eph.  v,  20. 


#5 

•r 


A  THANKSGIVING. 


For  the  earth  and  all  its  beauty  ; 

The  sky  and  all  its  light  ; 
For  the  dim  and  soothing  shadows, 

That  rest  the  dazzled  sight ; 
For  unfading  fields  and  prairies, 

Where  sense  iu  vain  has  trod  ; 
For  the  world's  exhaustless  beauty, 

I  thank  Thee,  O  my  God ! 

For  an  eye  of  inward  seeing  ; 

A  soul  to  know  and  love ; 
For  these  common  aspirations, 

That  our  high  heirship  prove  ; 
For  the  hearts  that  bless  each  other 

Beneath  Thy  smile,  Thy  rod  ; 
For  the  amaranth  saved  from  Eden, 

I  thank  Thee,  O  my  God ! 

For  the  hidden  scroll,  o'erwritten 

With  one  dear  name  adored  ; 
For  the  Heavenly  in  the  human, — 

The  spirit  in  the  Word  ; 
For  the  tokens  of  Thy  presence 

Within,  above,  abroad  ; 
For  thine  own  great  gift  of  Being 

I  thank  Thee,  O  my  God ! 


-LUCY  LARCOM. 


1& 


4<$n  efaern  tiding  gibe  tljitnks :  for  tins  is  tl;e  bill  of  (Hair  in  Christ 

$*sus  concerning  Don." — Thes.  v,  18.  -* 
 J 


S3r 


The  Atheist. 


HE  fool  hath  said  "  There  is  no  God!" 

No  God ! — Who  lights  the  morning  sun, 
And  sends  him  on  his  heavenly  road, 

A  far  and  brilliant  course  to  run  ? 

Who,  when  the  radiant  day  is  done, 
Hangs  forth  the  moon's  nocturnal  lamp, 

And  bids  the  planets,  one  by  one, 
Steal  o'er  the  night  vales,  dark  and  damp  ? 

No  God ! — Who  gives  the  evening  dew, 

The  fanning  breeze,  the  fostering  shower  ? 
Who  warms  the  spring-morn's  budding  bough, 

And  plants  the  summer's  noontide  flower  ? 

Who  spreads  in  the  autumnal  bower 
The  fruit  tree's  mellow  stores  around, 

And  sends  the  winter's  icy  power, 
To  invigorate  the  exhausted  ground  ? 


"&\)t  fool  l)atl)  saib  tit  Ins  jjmt,  %\txt  is  no  (Sob." 


THE  ATHEIST. 


33 


No  God  ! — Who  makes  the  bird  to  wing 

Its  flight  like  arrow  through  the  sky, 
And  gives  the  deer  its  power  to  spring 

From  rock  to  rock  triumphantly  ? 

Who  formed  Behemoth,  huge  and  high, 
That  at  a  draught  the  river  drains, 

And  great  Leviathan  to  lie, 
Like  floating  isle,  on  ocean  plains  ? 

No  God ! — Who  warms  the  heart  to  heave 

With  thousand  feelings  soft  and  sweet, 
And  prompts  the  aspiring  soul  to  leave 

The  earth  we  tread  beneath  our  feet, 

And  soar  away  on  pinions  fleet 
Beyond  the  scenes  of  mortal  strife, 

With  fair  ethereal  forms  to  meet, 
That  tell  us  of  the  after  life  ? 

No  God ! — Who  fixed  the  solid  ground 

Of  pillars  strong,  that  alter  not  ? 
Who  spread  the  curtained  skies  around  ? 

Who  doth  the  ocean  bounds  allot  ? 

Who  all  things  to  perfection  brought 
On  earth  below,  in  heaven  above  ? 

Go  ask  the  fool,  of  impious  thought, 
Who  dares  to  say,  "There  is  no  God!"  — WM.  KNOX. 


"EX 


|  knob  tbat  ti)on  canst  bo  .ebtrgtlnncj,  anb  tl)at  no  tljougl^t  tan  bt 
bttb^rilbcn  from  tbn." — Job  xlii,  2. 


'•'  The  Master  is  Come  and  Callethfor  Thee." 


J^jfOT  only  once  he  comes, 

In  that  dim  hour  when,  life  and  death  between. 
Floats  the  half  liberated  soul,  while  far 
And  faint  the  nearer  lamps  and  voices  grow, 
And  farther,  fainter,  rather  guessed  than  seen, 
Glimmers  the  light  of  heaven  like  glimmering  star, 
And  sounds  the  summons  which  the  dying  know- 
To  be  his  voice  whom  spirits  all  obey  ; — 
Not  only  then,  dear  Lord,  but  every  day. 

Yes,  every  day  he  comes ! 
Not  in  the  earthly  form  that  once  he  bore, 
Nor  in  the  glorious  shape  "which  now  he  wears ; 
In  mean  attire,  and  toil-worn,  painful  guise, 
He  stands  and  calls  beside  our  path,  our  door  ; 


'flu  fgta&Ur  is  come,  anb  callttb  for  tbee." 
— Jno.  xi,  28. 


3? 


"  THE  MASTER  IS  COME  AND  CALLETH  FOR  THEE. "     35  "l^r 


Weary  and  spent  he  comes,  his  wound  he  bares, 
And  bends  on  us  his  deep  appealing  eyes, 
Which  voiceless,  find  a  voice,  and  speak  and  say, 
"  'Tis  I  who  call  thee,  child  ;  wilt  thou  obey  ?  " 

In  various  shapes  he  comes ; 
When  life  grows  difficult,  and  cares  wax  strong, 
And  pain  and  patience  prove  too  hard  a  load, 
And  grief  makes  sorrowful  the  fairest  noon, 
And  sorrows  press  and  crowd,  an  armed  throng, 
And  fierce  temptations  lurk  along  the  road, 
And  day  is  hot,  and  night  falls  all  too  soon, — 
Still  in  these  grievous  things  himself  we  see, 
And  puzzled,  trustful  murmur,  "It  is  he!  " 

Be  glad  because  he  comes ! 
That  his  blest  visits  are  of  every  day, 
To  sweeten  toil,  to  give  that  toil  reward : 
And  when  the  snmmons  soundeth  clear  and  low, 
Let  us  rebuke  our  lagging  souls,  and  say, 
"It  is — oh,  wondrous  thought ! — it  is  the  Lord 


Who  deigns  to  claim  thy  help  and  service  so ! 
Be  quick,  my  soul,  nor  mar  thy  high  estate  ; 
Thy  Lord  and  Master  calls,  let  him  not  wait. 


— SUSAN  COOLIDGE. 


"  §lesseb  arc  those  scrbanls  fobom  the  lorb  foben  be  cometb_  sball 
finb  fostering." — Luke  xii,  37. 

lb-  __^gf 

-A® 


The  Crocus  Cross. 


|\\gf  HEN  light  the  purple  crocus  springs, 

And  lifts  to  heaven  its  shining  head, 
My  spirit  on  the  morning's  wings 
Seeks  the  far  city  of  the  dead, 
Where  kindred  blossoms  rise,  I  know, 
Over  the  sleeping  dust  below. 


I  mind  me  of  the  winter  day, 

The  sunny  sky,  the  grave  new  made, 
The  cross  trac'd  on  the  yielding  clay, 

The  tear-wet  bulbs  within  it  laid  : 
Dark  and  unlovely  to  our  eyes, 
Not  like  the  beauty  that  should  rise. 


"<|  am  pfEUtteb  berg  miub :  qutchen  me,  (D  %axb,  attorbmg  unto 

tbjj  foorb." — Psa.  cxix,  107.  £ 

^_  _  j(M 


•to? 


ft 


2i 


r 


THE  CROCUS  CROSS. 


37 


Safe  planted  from  the  storm  and 
cold, 

We  left  them  waiting  for  the 
hour 

When  wintry  days  should  all  be 
told, 

And  spring  awake  the  perfect 
flower  ; 

The  glorious  form    that  should 
appear 

From   the  dull  roots  we  buried 
there. 


Not  for  a  careless  eye  to  see, 

That    mystic    cryptogram  was 
set ; 

A    mute    appeal,    our    God,  to 
Thee, 

A  prayer  that   Thou  wilt  not 
forget, 

Beneath  that  shadowed  cross  there 
lies 

Somewhat    of    Thine  that  must 


iljjnj  tbjtt  trust  in  tin  |Tortr  sbjdl  be  as  mount  lion,  fobjeh  cannot 
hz  nmobeo,  but  abibetl)  for  tbtx." — Psa.  exxv,  i. 


And  hast  not  Thou,  with  loving  thought, 
Even  in  these  flowers  set  Thy  sign, 

That  so  our  grieving  hearts  be  taught 
Thy  resurrection's  truth  divine, 

Each  spring  repeating  to  our  eyes, 

Thy  woixl  of  comfort,  "  He  shall  rise  ?  " 

Then  let  us  rest  in  simple  faith, 

On  the  sure  promise  Thou  hast  given  : 

We  know  that  Thou  hast  conquered  death, 
We  know  Thou  rulest  earth  and  Heaven, 

Fixed  on  Thy  truth  our  hopes  remain, 

We  know  that  "  He  shall  rise  again." 


brother  sljall  rise  again. 
— Jno.  xi,  23. 


"He  Shall  Drink  of  the  Brook  in  the  Way.33 


And  we  must  travel  though  we  tire ; 
But  all  the  time  beside  the  road 
Trickle  the  small,  clear  rills  of  God, 
At  hand  for  our  desire. 

Quick  mercies,  small  amenities, 
Brief  moments  of  repose  and  ease, 

We  stoop,  and  drink,  and  so  fare  on, 
Unpausing,  but  re-nerved  in  strength 
From  hour  to  hour,  until  at  length 

Night  falleth,  and  the  day  is  done. 


^HE 


*1U  shall  brink  of  fyt  brook  in  t\t  (nan. 
— Psa.  cx,  7. 


r     40     "  HE  SHALL  DRINK  OF  THE  BROOK  IN  THE  WAY." 


1 


The  birds  sip  of  the  wayside  rill, 
And  raise  their  heads  in  praises,  still 

Upborne  upon  their  flashing  wings  : 
So  drinking  thus  along  the  way, 
Our  little  meed  of  thanks  we  pay 

To  Him  who  fills  the  water  springs, 

And  deals  with  equal  tenderness 
The  larger  mercies  and  the  less  : 

"  O  Lord,  of  good  the  fountain  free, 
Close  by  our  hard  day's  journeying 
Be  thou  the  all-sufficing  spring, 

And  hourly  let  us  drink  of  thee  " 

—  SUSAN  COOLIDGE. 


|f  anu  man  tbirst,  let  |im  tome  unto  me,  anb  brink. 
— Jno.  vii,  37. 


Self-Love. 


H,  I  could  go  through  all  life's  troubles  singing, 

Turning  earth's  night  to  day, 
If  self  were  not  so  fast  around  me,  clinging 
To  all  I  do  or  say. 


My  very  thoughts  are  selfish,  always  building 

Mean  castles  in  the  air  ; 
I  use  my  love  for  others  for  a  gilding 

To  make  myself  look  fair. 

I  fancy  all  the  world  engrossed  with  judging 

My  merit  or  my  blame  ; 
Its  warmest  praise  seems  an  ungracious  grudging 

Of  praise  which  I  might  claim. 


'  Siren  sl^alt  lobe  i\v  t«tgI)bor  as  tbuself." 
— Matt,  xxii,  39. 


In  youth,  or  age,  by  city,  wood,  or  mountain, 

Self  is  forgotten  never  ; 
Where'er  we  tread,  it  gushes  like  a  fountain, 

Its  waters  flow  forever. 

O  miserable  omnipresence,  stretching 

Over  all  time  and  space, 
How  have  I  run  from  thee,  yet  found  thee  reaching 

The  goal  in  every  race. 

Inevitable  self!  vile  imitation 

Of  universal  light, — 
Within  our  hearts  a  dreadful  usurpation 

Of  God's  exclusive  right ! 

— F.  W.  FABER. 


§mb  fobosoeber  sball  e*alt  bimself  shall  be  abaseir;  anb  be  tbat 
shall  bninble  biinstlf  sball  be  e*altetr."— Matt,  xxiii,  12. 


Jesus  Only. 


H,  Jesus!  on  the  mountain 

Beside  Thee  I  would  stand, 
Drink  from  no  other  fountain, 

Feed  from  no  other  hand, 
Gaze  on  no  other  glory, 

Lean  on  no  other  breast, 
Thus,  thus  would  I  adore  Thee, 

My  Everlasting  Rest ! 

My  Lord !  Thy  beauty  seemeth 

So  fair,  so  passing  fair, 
I  stand  like  one  who  dreameth, 

With  Thee  transfigured  there! 
Keep  me,  all  else  forgetting, 

Still  standing  at  Thy  side, 
Upon  Thy  holy  mountain, 

Whatever  may  betide. 


-L.  T.  IN  "WORD  AND  WORK." 


"i  am  the  mag,  tlje  trutlj,  anir  tlje  life :  no  man  ronuilj  unto  i\t 
m,  but  bg  nu." — Jno.  xiv,  6. 


/3h 


Lines  Written  in  a  Churchyard. 


'ETHINKS  it  is  good  to  be  here; 
^  If  thou  wilt,  let  us  build — but  for  whom  ? 
Nor  Elias  nor  Moses  appear  ; 
But  the  shadows  of  eve  that  encompass  with  gloom 
The  abode  of  the  dead  and  the  place  of  the  tomb. 


Shall  we  build  to  Ambition  ?    Ah  no ! 
Affrighted  he  shrinketh  away  ; 

For  see,  they  would  pen  him  below 
In  a  small  narrow  cave  and  begirt  with  cold  clay, 
To  the  meanest  of  reptiles  a  peer  and  a  prey. 

To  Beauty?  Ah  no!  she  forgets 
The  charms  which  she  wielded  before  ; 

Nor  knows  the  foul  worm  that  he  frets 
The  skin  which  but  yesterday  fools  could  adore, 
For  the  smoothness  it  held,  or  the  tint  which  it  wore. 


"Jft  is  goob  for  us  to  be  \txt:  anb  let  us  make  tfjree  tabernacles;  one 
for  tljee,  anb  one  for  gftcses,  anb  one  for  <£ltas." — Mark  ix,  5. 


Shall  we  build  to  the  purple  of  pride  ? 
To  the  trappings  which  dizen  the  proud  ? 

Alas!  they  are  all  laid  aside, 
And  here's  neither  dress  nor  adornment  allowed, 
But  the  long  winding-sheet,  and  the  fringe  of  the  shroud. 


To  Riches?    Alas,  'tis  in  vain! 
Who  hid,  in  their  turns  have  been  hid  : 

The  treasures  are  squandered  again  ; 
And  here  in  the  grave  are  all  metals  forbid, 
But  the  tinsel  that  shines  on  the  dark  coffin-lid. 


To  the  pleasures  which  Mirth  can  afford, 
The  revel,  the  laugh,  and  the  jeer  ? 

Ah !  here  is  a  plentiful  board ! 
But  the  guests  are  all  mute  as  their  pitiful  cheer, 
And  none  but  the  worm  is  a  reveler  here. 


Shall  we  build  to  Affection  and  Love  ? 
Ah  no !  they  have  withered  and  died, 

Or  fled  with  the  spirit  above, 
Friends,  brothers,  and  sisters  are  laid  side  by  side, 
Yet  none  have  saluted,  and  none  have  replied. 


|  ijabe  sun  all  i\t  foorks  tjjat  are  bone  unber  i\t  sun : 
all  is  banitg  anb  bzxntian  of  spirit." — Eccles.  i. 


If 


46 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  A  CHURCHYARD. 


Unto  Sorrow  ? — the  dead  cannot  grieve  ; 
Not  a  sob,  not  a  sigh  meets  mine  ear, 

Which  compassion  itself  could  relieve, 
Ah,  sweetly  they  slumber,  nor  love,  hope,  or  fear  ; 
Peace,  peace  is  the  watchword,  the  only  one  here. 

Unto  Death,  to  whom  monarchs  must  bow  ? 
Ah  no !  for  his  empire  is  known, 

And  here  there  are  trophies  enow ! 
Beneath,  the  cold  dead,  and  around,  the  dark  stone, 
Are  the  signs  of  a  sceptre  that  none  may  disown. 

The  first  tabernacle  to  Hope  we  will  build, 
And  look  for  the  sleepers  around  us  to  rise  ; 

The  second  to  Faith,  that  insures  it  fulfilled  ; 
And  the  third  to  the  Lamb  of  the  great  sacrifice, 
Who  bequeathed  us  them  both  when  he  rose  to  the  skies. 


J'&fyxt  ratseo  bjm  up  horn  t\z  ceair,  ano  gabc  frim  glorg;  tjrnt  gour 
faitlj  anb  bope  mtgbj  be  in  (Sob." — I  Peter,  i,  21. 


— HERBERT  KNOWLES. 


Yearning. 


N  thy  closet  daily  hiding, 

Talk  with  God  ; 
He  will  take  away  the  chiding 

And  the  rod. 
And  in  the  place  of  sore  distress 
Build  thy  life  in  holiness 


One  star  lifts  above  another 

Towards  His  light  ; 
One  ray  other  rays  shall  gather 

In  its  flight ; 
And  ere  long  thy  peace  shall  be 
Sure  as  His  who  leadeth  thee. 


|  stntcjj  forth  mrr  bancs  unto  tl^ee:  mg  soul  ll)irst«tlj  ziitx  %e,  as 
a  tjnrstw  Janb." — Psa.  cxliii,  6. 


4? 


(2b 


Satisfied. 


'OT  here  !  not  here  !  not  where  the  sparkling  waters 
Fade  into  mocking  sounds  as  we  draw  near  ; 
Where  in  the  wilderness  each  footstep  falters ; 
I  shall  be  satisfied — but  O,  not  here  ! 

Not  here,  where  all  our  dreams  of  bliss  deceive  us, 
Where  the  worn  spirit  never  gains  its  goal ; 

Where,  haunted  ever  by  the  thoughts  that  grieve  us, 
Across  us  floods  of  bitter  memory  roll. 

There  is  a  land  where  every  pulse  is  thrilling 

With  rapture,  earth's  sojourners  may  not  know ; 

Where  heaven's  repose  the  weary  heart  is  stilling, 
And  peacefully  life's  time-crossed  currents  flow. 


"|  lobe  i\t  Iforb,  because  \t  bjrtlj  I)eara  mo  boice  anb  mjr 
;4XK  supplications." — Psa.  cxvi,  i. 


SATISFIED. 


Far  out  of  sight,  while  mortal  robes  enfold  us, 
Lies  the  fair  country  where  our  hearts  abide ; 

And  of  its  bliss  is  naught  more  wondrous  told  us 
Than  those  few  words,  "  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

What !  truly  satisfied!  The  soul's  vague  longing, 
The  aching  void  which  nothing  earthly  fills  ? 

O,  what  desires  upon  my  soul  are  thronging 
As  I  look  upward  to  the  heavenly  hills ! 

Thither  my  weak  and  weary  steps  are  tending ; 

Saviour  and  Lord,  with  thy  frail  child  abide ! 
Guide  me  toward  home,  where  all  my  wanderings  ending, 

I  then  shall  see  thee  and  "be  satisfied." 


H\txt  iht  fokkeb  uas*  from 

XtSt."- 


roublincj  ;  anb  tlure  %  fomg  bz  at 
-Job  iii,  17. 


There  is  no  Death. 


HERE  is  no  death !    The  stars  go  down 

To  rise  upon  some  fairer  shore  : 
And  bright  in  Heaven's  jewelled  crown 
They  shine  forever  more. 

There  is  no  death !    The  dust  we  tread 
Shall  change  beneath  the  summer  showers 

To  golden  grain  or  mellowed  fruit, 
Or  rainbow-tinted  flowers. 

The  granite  rocks  disorganize, 

And  feed  the  hiingry  moss  they  bear  ; 

The  forest  leaves  drink  daily  life, 
From  out  the  viewless  air. 


"  <Jfor  if  foe  bcltebe  il^nt  Jesns  bieb  anb  rose  again,  eben  so  t^em  also 

folncj)  sleep  in  Jesus  fotll  <Sob  bring  bntlj  \)im." — Thes.  iv,  14. 



ST  19 


There  is  no  death !    The  leaves  may  fall, 
And  flowers  may  fade  and  pass  away  ; 

They  only  wait  through  wintry  hours, 
The  coming  of  the  May. 

There  is  no  death !    An  angel  form 

Walks  o'er  the  earth  with  silent  tread  ; 

He  bears  our  best  loved  things  away  ; 
And  then  we  call  them  "dead." 

He  leaves  our  hearts  all  desolate, 

He  plucks  our  fairest,  sweetest  flowers  ; 

Transplanted  into  bliss,  they  now 
Adorn  immortal  bowers. 

The  bird-like  voice,  whose  joyous  tones 
Made  glad  these  scenes  of  sin  and  strife, 

Sings  now  an  everlasting  song, 
Around  the  tree  of  life. 

Where'er  he  sees  a  smile  too  bright, 
Or  heart  too  pure  for  taint  and  vice, 

He  bears  it  to  that  world  of  light, 
To  dwell  in  Paradise. 


"^or  to  mt  to  Iifae  is  (fjmst,  anb  to  bu  is  gain." 


Born  unto  that  undying  life, 

They  leave  us  but  to  come  again  ; 

With  joy  we  welcome  them  the  same, — 
<#m»t  their  sin  and  pain. 


And  ever  near  us,  though  unseen, 

The  dear  immortal  spirits  tread  ; 
For  all  the  boundless  universe 

Is  life — t\}txt  xxt  no  btaa. 

— LORD  LYTTON. 


Charity. 


^HE  blessings  which  the  weak  and  poor  can  scatter 
Have  their  own  season.    'T  is  a  little  thing 
To  give  a  cup  of  water  ;  yet  its  draught 
Of  cool  refreshment,  drained  by  fevered  lips, 
May  give  a  shock  of  pleasure  to  the  frame 
More  exquisite  than  when  nectarean  juice 
Renews  the  life  of  joy  in  happiest  hours, 
It  is  a  little  thing  to  speak  a  phrase 
Of  common  comfort,  which,  by  daily  use, 
Has  almost  lost  its  sense  ;  yet  on  the  ear 
Of  him  who  thought  to  die  unmourned,  't  will  fall 
Like  choicest  music  ;  fill  the  glazing  eye 
With  gentle  tears  ;  relax  the  knotted  hand 
To  know  the  bonds  of  fellowship  again, — 
And  shed  on  the  departing  soul  a  sense 
More  precious  than  the  benison  of  friends 
About  the  honored  death-bed  of  the  rich, — 
To  him  who  else  were  lonely,  that  another 
Of  the  great  family  is  near,  and  feels. 

— THOMAS  N.  TALFOURD. 


"Cljarttn  sitffcrctjj  long,  mto  is  htnb;  djaritjj  cnbictlj  not;  cljaritg 
%^  bautrUtlj  not  itself,  is  not  pnffca  up." — i  Cor.  xiii,  4. 

m\  .  


The  Chamber  of  Peace. 


uH\z  plgrim  tbjg  Iaib  in  a  large  upper  chamber,  facing  i\z  sun- 
rising.  k\z  name  of  tbe  chamber  foas  |)eace."— Bunyan's  Pilgrim's 
Progress 

FTER  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day, 
The  starry  calm  of  night  ; 
After  the  rough  and  toilsome  way, 
A  sleep  in  the  robe  of  white. 

O  blessed  Pilgrim !  we  see  thy  face 

As  an  angel's  face  might  seem, 
For,  lying  pale  in  that  shadowy  place, 
Thou  dreamest  a  golden  dream. 

The  stars  are  watching  the  sleeping  saint, 

And  lighting  the  sleeping  brow  ; 
But  the  light  of  the  stars  is  cold  and  faint 
To  the  glory  he  dreameth  now  : 


got 


ill  speak  peace  unto  I^is  people,  antr  to  bjs  saints." 
—  Psa.  lxxxv,  8. 


r 


THE  CHAMBER  OF  PEACE. 


57 


For  the  things  that  are  hid  from  waking  eyes 

Shine  clear  to  the  veiled  sight ; 
From  the  chamber  dim  where  the  Pilgrim  lies 

We  can  watch  the  fountains  of  light. 

The  journey  is  over,  the  fight  is  fought, 
He  hath  seen  the  Home  of  his  love  ; 

And  the  smile  on  the  dreamer's  face  is  caught 
From  the  land  of  smiles  above. 

We  also  have  sometimes  lain  asleep 

In  the  blessed  Chamber  of  Peace ; 
Too  weary  to  wrestle,  or  watch,  or  weep, 

For  a  while  the  struggle  must  cease — 

We  give  thanks  for  the  weakness  that  makes  us  lie 

So  helpless  and  calm  for  a  while  ; 
The  roar  of  the  battle  goes  hoarsely  by, 

And  we  hear  it,  in  dreams,  with  a  smile. 

Oh,  sweet  is  the  slumber  wherewith  the  King 

Hath  caused  the  weary  to  rest ! 
For,  sleeping,  we  hear  the  angels  sin 

We  lean  on  the  Master's  breast. 


"©Ik  ^Torir  foill  bless  Ins  people  foxtlj  peace." 
— Psa.  xxix.  II. 


Thou  hast  another  Chamber,  dear  Lord, — 

The  secret  place  of  peace, 
Where  Thy  precious  ones  are  safely  stored, 

When  their  weary  wanderings  cease  : 
\ 

After  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day, 

The  starry  calm  of  night ; 
After  the  rough  and  toilsome  way, 

A  sleep  in  the  robe  of  white. 


The  sacred  Chamber  is  still  and  wide, 
You  listen  in  vain  for  a  breath  ; 

And  pale  lie  the  sleepers,  side  by  side, 
In  the  cold  moonlight  of  death. 


No  sighs  are  heard  in  the  shadowy  place, 
No  voices  of  them  that  weep  ; 

They  have  fought  the  fight,  and  finished  the  race- 
God  giveth  them  rest  in  sleep. 


Are  they  dreaming,  the  sleepers  pale  and  still  ? 

For  their  faces  are  rapt  and  calm, 
As  though  they  were  treading  the  Holy  Hill, 

And  hearkening  the  angels'  psalm  : 


;3Ub  tbc  peace  of  60b,  fobicb  passetl)  all  nnbtrstattbing,  sball  Iuejj 
ocmr  luarts  anb  minbs  tbroutjb  Cjmst  Jesus." — Phil,  iv,  7. 


The  things  that  were  hid  from  waking  eyes 

Shine  clear  to  the  veiled  sight ; 
In  the  last  deep  sleep  the  Pilgrims  rise, 

To  walk  on  the  shores  of  Light. 

Oh,  sweet  is  the  slumber  wherewith  the  King 

Hath  caused  the  weary  to  rest ! 
For,  sleeping,  they  hear  the  angels  sing, 

They  lean  on  the  Master's  breast. 


And  sweet  is  the  Chamber,  silent  and  wide, 

Where  lingers  the  holy  smile 
Of  a  wayfaring  Man,  who  turned  aside 

To  rest,  long  ago,  for  a  while  : 

He  had  suffered  a  sorrow  which  none  may  tell, 
He  had  purchased  a  Gift  unpriced  ; 

When  his  work  was  over  the  moonlight  fell 
On  the  sleeping  face  of  Christ  : 

The  face  of  a  Victor,  dead  and  crowned, 

With  a  smile  divinely  fair ; 
The  saints  and  martyrs  sleeping  around 

Were  stirred  as  He  entered  there  : 


"§lnb  t\z  grafts  fozxz  op.etub  :  anb  manir  bobics  of  i\z  saints  fojncj} 

sUpt  nxonz." — Matt,  xxvii,  52.  ^ 


His  very  Name  is  as  ointment  poured 

On  the  moonlight  pale  to-night  ; 
And  the  Chamber  is  sweet  to  Thy  servants,  Lord, 

For  the  scent  of  Thy  raiment  white. 

The  silent  Chamber  faceth  the  east, 

Faceth  the  dawn  of  the  day, 
And  the  shining  feet  of  our  great  High  Priest 

Shall  break  through  the  shadows  gray. 

The  golden  dawn  of  the  Day  of  God 

Shall  smite  on  the  sealed  eyes  ; 
The  trumpet's  sound  shall  thunder  around, 

The  dreamers  shall  wake  and  rise. 


The  night  is  over,  the  sleep  is  slept, 

They  are  called  from  the  shadowy  place ; 

The  Pilgrims  stand  in  the  glorious  land, 
And  gaze  on  the  Master's  face. 


Ji 


%t  sljall  enter  inter  peace :  tl;en  shall  rest  in  tlmr  bees,  eatlj  one 
famlliing  in  Ins  uprightness." — Isa.  lvii,  2. 

»  


After  the  Burial." 


ES,  faith  is  a  goodly  anchor, 

Where  skies  are  as  sweet  as  a  psalm, 
At  the  bows  it  lolls  so  stalwart, 
In  bluff  broad-shouldered  calm. 


A.A  when  o'er  breakers  to  leeward 
The  scattered  surges  are  hurled, 

It  may  keep  our  head  to  the  tempest, 
With  its  grip  on  the  base  of  the  world. 


But  after  the  shipwreck,  tell  me 

What  help  in  its  iron  thews, 
Still  true  to  the  broken  hawser, 

Deep  down  among  sea-weed  and  ooze  ? 


asleep,  tlrat  jje  sorrob  not,  as  others  babtng  no  I^one." — i  Thes.  iv. 


"  |3ut  $  fooulo  not  babe  lion  to  be  ignorant  concerning  tbem  bbieb  are 


r  62 


AFTER  THE  BURIAL. 


In  the  breaking  gulfs  of  sorrow, 
When  the  helpless  feet  stretch  out, 

And  you  find  in  the  deeps  of  darkness 
No  footing  so  solid  as  doubt — 


Then  better  one  spar  of  memory; 

One  broken  plank  of  the  past — 
That  our  poor  hearts  may  cling  to, 

Tho'  hopeless  of  shore  at  last. 


To  the  spirit  its  splendid  conjectures, 
To  the  heart  its  sweet  despair, 

Its  tears  on  the  thin  worn  locket, 
With  its  beauty  of  deathless  hair. 


Immortal !  I  feel  it,  and  know  it ; 

Who  doubts  it  of  such  as  she! 
But  that's  the  pang's  very  secret — 

Immortal  away  from  me. 


There  is  a  little  ridge  in  the  church-yard, 
'Twould  scarce  stay  a  child  in  its  race, 

But  to  me  and  my  thoughts  'tis  wider 
Than  the  star-sown  vague  of  space. 


4,]£jibe  not  tbn  fact  from  mc  in  i\z  ban  toben  J  am  tit  tremble;  incline 
tjjine  ear  unto  me." — Psa.  cii,  2. 


fife 


^1 


r  AFTER  THE   BURIAL.  63 


Your  logic,  my  friend,  is  perfect ; 

Your  moral  most  drearily  true  ; 
But  the  earth  that  stops  my  darling's  ears, 

Makes  mine  insensate,  too. 


Console  if  you  will,  I  can  bear  it, 
'Tis  a  well-meant  alms  of  breath ; 

But  not  all  the  preaching  since  Adam 
Has  made  death  other  than  death. 


"|ffet,  $  prag  ijjee,        merciful  hinbtuss  be  for  mn  tomfort, 
accorbing  to  tljj)  foorb  unto  lljg  serbant." — Psa.  cxix,  76. 
Cfoi  1_  -Ji 


AFTER  THE  BURIAL. 


1 


Communion  in  spirit !    Forgive  me, 
But  I  who  am  sickly  and  weak 

Would  give  all  my  income  from  dreamland 
For  her  rose-leaf  palm  on  my  cheek. 


That  little  shoe  in  the  corner, 

So  worn  and  wrinkled  and  brown, 

Its  motionless  hollow  confronts  you, 
And  argues  your  wisdom  down. 


— JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL, 

(After  the  burial  of  his  little  daughter.) 


L 


*|Ttt  tl)e  bag  of  trig  trouble  |  sought  %  |orir." 
— Psa.  lxxvii,  2. 


Living  Waters. 


8 

jftN  some  wild  Eastern  legend  the  story  has  been  told 

Of  a  fair  and  wondrous  fountain,  that  flowed  in  times  of  old  ; 
Cold  and  crystalline  its  waters,  brightly  glancing  in  the  ray 
Of  the  summer  moon  at  midnight,  or  the  sun  at  height  of  day. 

And  a  good  angel,  resting  there,  once  in  a  favored  hour 

Infused  into  the  limpid  depths  a  strange  mysterious  power ; 

A  hidden  principle  of  life,  to  rise  and  gush  again, 

Where  but  some  drops  were  scattered  on  the  dry  and  barren  plain. 

So  the  traveler  might  journey,  not  now  in  fear  and  haste, 
Far  through  the  mountain-desert,  far  o'er  the  sandy  waste, 
If  but  he  sought  this  fountain  first,  and  from  its  wondrous  store 
The  secret  of  unfailing  springs  along  with  him  he  bore. 

Wild  and  fanciful  the  legend — yet  may  not  meanings  high, 
Visions  of  better  things  to  come,  within  its  shadow  lie  ? 
Type  of  a  better  fountain,  to  mortals  now  unsealed, 
The  full  and  free  salvation  in  Christ  our  Lord  revealed  ? 


"  Jfor  X\z  ITnmb  foljiclj  is  in  i\iz  mtbst  of  i\z  tbrotu  sljall  ffeb  %nt 
anb  s^rall  Leab  fytm  unto  Ubhtg  fomttatns  of  fosters." — Rev.  vii,  17. 

m\  jam 


LIVING  WATERS. 


Beneath  the  Cross  those  waters  rise,  and  he  who  finds  them  there 
All  through  the  wilderness  of  life  the  living  stream  may  bear ; 
And  blessings  follow  in  his  steps,  until  where'er  he  goes, 
The  moral  wastes  begin  to  bud  and  blossom  as  the  rose. 

Ho !  every  one  that  thirsteth,  come  to  this  fountain  side ! 

Drink  freely  of  its  waters,  drink,  and  be  satisfied ! 

Yet  linger  not,  but  hasten  on,  and  bear  to  all  around 

Glad  tidings  of  the  love,  and  peace,  and  mercy  thou  hast  found ! 

To  Afric's  pathless  deserts,  to  Greenland's  frozen  shore— 
"Where  din  of  mighty  cities  sounds,  or  savage  monsters  roar — 
Wherever  man  may  wander  with  his  heritage  of  woe, 
To  tell  of  brighter  things  above,  go,  brothers,  gladly  go ! 

Then,  as  of  old  in  vision  seen  before  the  prophet's  eyes, 
Broader  and  deeper  on  its  course  the  stream  of  life  shall  rise ; 
And  everywhere,  as  on  it  flows,  shall  carry  light  and  love, 
Peace  and  good-will  to  man  on  earth,  glory  to  God  above! 


Ijo,  Jnri)  one  tjjat  tlmstetjj,  rxnne  jie  to  iht  bonUxs." 
— Isa.  lv,  i. 


The  Pilgrim. 


TILL  onward  through  this  land  of  foes 

I  pass  in  Pilgrim  guise  ; 
I  may  not  stop  to  seek  repose 

Where  cool  the  shadow  lies ; 
I  may  not  stoop  amid  the  grass 

To  pluck  earth's  fairest  flowers, 
Nor  by  her  springing  fountains  pass 

The  sultry  noontide  hours  ; 

Yet  flowers  I  wear  upon  my  breast 

That  no  earth-garden  knows — 
White  lilies  of  immortal  peace, 

And  love's  deep-tinted  rose  ; 
And  there  the  blue-eyed  flowers  of  faith, 

And  hope's  bright  buds  of  gold, 
\s  lone  I  tread  the  upward  path, 

In  richest  hues  unfold. 


"S^eb  arc  not  of  i\z  foorltr,  timt  as  $  am  not  of  the  foorlfr." 
— Jno.  xvii,  16. 


3fc 


Sir- 


tr 


68 


THE  PILGRIM. 


I  keep  my  armor  ever  on, 

For  foes  beset  my  way  ; 
I  watch,  lest  passing  on  alone 

I  fall  a  helpless  prey. 
No  earthly  love  have  I — I  lean 

Upon  no  mortal  breast  ; 
But  my  Beloved,  though  unseen', 

Walks  near  and  gives  me  rest. 

Afar,  around,  I  often  see, 

Throughout  this  desert  wide, 
His  Pilgrims  pressing  on  like  me — 

They  often  pass  my  side  ; 
The  kindly  smile,  the  gentle  word, 

For  Jesus'  sake  I  give ; 
But  love — O  Thou  alone  adored! 

For  Thee  alone  I  live. 

Painful  and  dark  the  pathway  seems 

To  distant  earthly  eyes  ; 
They  only  see  the  hedging  thorns 

On  either  side  that  rise  ; 
They  can  not  know  how  soft  between 

The  flowers  of  love  are  strewn — 
The  sunny  ways,  the  pastures  green, 

Where  Jesus  leads  His  own ; 


"  $out>  \>nbt  jjoles,  anb  birbs  of  ilj*  air  Imb*  tusts  ;  but  i\z  J§ott  of 
Utatt        not  ia\}txt  to  lag  Ins  Ijeab." — Luke  ix,  58. 

m>\  


They  cannot  see,  as  darkening  clouds 

Behind  the  Pilgrim  close, 
How  far  adown  the  western  glade 

The  golden  glory  flows  ; 
They  cannot  hear  'mid  earthly  din 

The  song  to  Pilgrims  known, 
Still  blending  with  the  angels'  hymn 

Around  the  wondrous  throne. 

So  I,  Thy  bounteous  token-flowers 

Still  on  my  bosom  wear  ; 
While  me,  the  fleeting  love-winged  hours 

To  Thee  still  nearer  bear ; 
So  from  my  lips  Thy  song  shall  flow, 

My  sweetest  music  be  ; 
So  on  mine  eyes  the  glory  grow, 

Till  all  is  lost  in  Thee. 


"  3Uo  foljosofoer  botlj  not  bear  {jig  rross,  ana  come  after  me,  cannot 

he  mg  bistiph." — Luke  xiv,  27. 
k__  J 


Our  Ships  at  Sea. 


m 

OW  many  of  us  have  ships  at  sea, 

Freighted  with  wishes  and  hopes  and  fears, 
Tossing  about  on  the  waves,  while  we 

Linger  and  wait  on  the  shore  for  years, 
Gazing  afar  through  the  distance  dim 

And  sighing,  will  ever  our  ships  come  in  ? 

We  sent  them  away  with  laughter  and  song, 

The  decks  were  white  and  the  sails  were  new, 
The  fragrant  breezes  bore  them  along, 

The  sea  was  calm  and  the  skies  were  blue, 
And  we  thought  as  we  watched  them  sail  away 
Of  the  joy  they  would  bring  us  some  future  day. 


"$t  is  900b       a  man  sljonlb  botlj  Ijope  anb  quictln  bait  for  tjje 
salbation  of  Ifu  ^Corb." — Lam.  iii,  26. 

 ^ 


Long  have  we  watched  beside  the  shore 
To  catch  the  gleam  of  a  coming  sail, 


"J-ear  not,  nor.  he  bismaiub;  hz  strong  anb  of  goob  courage. 
— Josh,  x,  25. 


72  OUR  SHIPS  AT  SEA. 


But  we  only  hear  the  breakers'  roar 

Or  the  sweeping  night  wind's  dismal  wail, 
Till  our  cheeks  grow  pale,  and  our  eyes  grow  dim, 
And  we  sadly  sigh,  will  they  ever  come  in  ? 

Oh!  poor  sad  heart  with  its  burden  of  cares, 

Its  aims  defeated,  its  worthless  life 
That  has  garnered  only  the  thorns  and  the  tares 

That  is  seared  and  torn  in  the  pitiful  strife, 
Afar  on  the  heavenly  golden  shore 
Thy  ships  are  anchored  forever  more. 

FLORENCE  GROVER. 


Mtmt}  is  %  man  %t  tnistalj  in  tlje  $  orb,  attb  fo^ca*  Ijop«  % 
$T orb  is."— Jer.  xvii,  7. 


r 


Heaven  by  Littles. 


EAVEN  is  not  reached  by  a  single  bound ; 
But  we  build  the  ladder,  by  which  we  rise 
From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 
And  we  mount  to  its  summit  round  by  round. 

I  count  these  things  to  be  grandly  true ! 
That  a  noble  deed  is  a  step  toward  God — 
Lifting  the  soul  from  the  common  sod 

To  a  pure*-  air  and  a  broader  view. 

We  rise  by  the  things  that  are  under  our  feet ; 
By  what  we  have  mastered  of  greed  and  gain, 
By  the  pride  deposed,  and  the  passion  slaiA, 

And  the  vanquished  ill  that  we  hourly  meet. 


law 


kinblj*  affecttotub  ant  io  another  teitlj  brot^rlg  lobt, 
— Rom.  xii,  io. 


Coming. 


T  may  be  in  the  evening, 

When  the  work  of  the  day  is  done, 
And  you  have  time  to  sit  in  the  twilight 
And  watch  the  sinking  sun, 


While  the  long  bright  day  dies  slowly 

Over  the  sea, 
And  the  hour  grows  quiet  and  holy 

With  thoughts  of  me  ; 
While  you  hear  the  village  children 

Passing  along  the  street, 
Among  those  thronging  footsteps 

May  come  the  sound  of  my  feet 
Therefore  I  tell  you  :  Watch 

By  the  light  of  the  evening  star, 
When  the  room  is  growing  dusky 

As  the  clouds  afar  ; 


"  Mxtth  ge  therefore :  for  ge  knefo  not  fohen  the  master  of  the  house 
^  rometb/' — Mark  xiii,  35. 


Let  the  door  be  on  the  latch 

In  your  home, 
For  it  may  be  through  the  gloaming 

I  will  come. 


"It  may  be  when  the  midnight 

Is  heavy  upon  the  land, 
And  the  black  waves  lying  dumbly 

Along  the  sand ; 
When  the  moonless  night  draws  close, 
And  the  lights  are  out  in  the  house ; 
When  the  fires  burn  low  and  red, 
And  the  watch  is  ticking  loudly 

Beside  the  bed ; 
Though  you  sleep,  tired  out,  on  your  couch, 
Still  your  heart  must  wake  and  watch 

In  the  dark  room, 
For  it  may  be  that  at  midnight 

I  will  come. 


"  It  may  be  at  the  cock-crow, 
When  the  night  is  dying  slowly 

In  the  sky, 
And  the  sea  looks  calm  and  holy, 
Waiting  for  the  dawn 


"git  tbtn,  or  at  mibnig^t,  or  at  i\it  rothtrofoing,  or  irt 
— Mark  xiii,  35. 


\t  morning. 


Of  the  golden  sun 

Which  draweth  nigh  ; 
"When  the  mists  are  on  the  valleys,  shading 

The  rivers  chill, 
And  my  morning-star  is  fading,  fading 

Over  the  hill : 
Behold  I  say  unto  you  :  Watch ; 
Let  the  door  be  on  the  latch 

In  your  home ; 
In  the  chill  before  the  dawning, 
Between  the  night  and  morning, 

I  may  come. 

"It  may  be  in  the  morning, 

When  the  sun  is  bright  and  strong 
And  the  dew  is  glittering  sharply 

Over  the  little  lawn  ; 
When  the  waves  are  laughing  loudly 

Along  the  shore, 
And  the  little  birds  are  singing  sweetly 

About  the  door  ; 
With  the  long  day's  work  before  you, 

You  rise  up  with  the  sun, 
And  the  neighbors  come  in  to  talk  a  little 

Of  all  that  must  be  done, 


"(Take  vt  bt£b,  foatcb  antr  Bran  :  for  nc  knob  not  fcoben  tbe  time  is." 


But  remember  that  I  may  be  the  next 

To  come  in  at  the  door, 
To  call  you  from  all  your  busy  work 

For  evermore : 
As  you  work  your  heart  must  watch 
For  the  door  is  on  the  latch 

In  your  room, 
And  it  may  be  in  the  morning 

I  will  come. " 


So  He  passed  down  my  cottage  garden, 
By  the  path  that  leads  to  the  sea, 

Till  He  came  to  the  turn  of  the  little  road 
Where  the  birch  and  laburnum  tree 

Lean  over  and  arch  the  way ; 

There  I  saw  Him  a  moment  stay, 
And  turn  once  more  to  me, 
As  I  wept  at  the  cottage  door, 

And  lift  up  His  hands  in  blessing — 
Then  I  saw  His  face  no  more. 


And  I  stood  still  in  the  doorway, 

Leaning  against  the  wall, 
Not  heeding  the  fair  white  roses, 

Though  I  crushed  them  and  let  them  fall 


"  J'or  tjje  Son  of  JVtan  sl^all  come  tit  tjje  glorjr  of  Ins  Jktjjer  foitb  Iris 
Gfffe  ano,£ls."-Matt.  xvi,  27. 


78 


COMING. 


(ME> 


Only  looking  down  the  pathway, 

And  looking  toward  the  sea, 
And  wondering,  and  wondering 

When  He  would  come  back  for  me 
Till  I  was  aware  of  an  Angel 

Who  was  going  swiftly  by, 
With  the  gladness  of  one  who  goeth 

In  the  light  of  God  Most  High. 


He  passed  the  end  of  the  cottage 
Toward  the  garden  gate — 


GT 


1 1         "|3eI)oIir,  be  rometj)  hntlj  tloubs;  aitfr  tbtvv  eoe  sjrall  see  Jrim." 

—Rev.  i,  7.  Jtl 


1 


COMING. 


79 


(I  suppose  he  was  come  down 

At  the  setting  of  the  sun 

To  comfort  some  one  in  the  village 

Whose  dwelling  was  desolate)— 
And  he  paused  before  the  door 

Beside  my  place, 
And  the  likeness  of  a  smile 

Was  on  his  face  : 
"Weep  not,"  he  said,  "for  unto  you  is  given 

To  watch  for  the  coming  of  His  feet 
Who  is  the  glory  of  our  blessed  heaven  ; 

The  work  and  watching  will  be  very  sweet, 

Even  in  an  earthly  home  ; 
And  in  such  an  hour  as  you  think  not 

He  will  come."  « 

So  I  am  watching  quietly 

Every  day. 
Whenever  the  sun  shines  brightly, 

I  rise  and  say : 
"Surely  it  is  the  shining  of  His  face!" 
And  look  unto  the  gates  of  His  high  place 

Beyond  the  sea ; 
For  I  know  He  is  coming  shortly 

To  summon  me. 


"Dmafttr  sball  ju  sec-  t\t  Son  of  gjgta-tt  sitting  on  i\t  rigl)t  l)anb  of 
nofo.er,  ana  coming  in  i\z  clones  of  juaimt." — Matt,  xxvi,  64. 


COMING. 


And  when  a  shadow  falls  across  the  window 

Of  my  room, 
"Where  I  am  working  my  appointed  task, 
I  lift  my  head  to  watch  the  door  and  ask 

If  He  is  come  ; 
And  the  Angel  answers  sweetly 

In  my  home  : 
"Only  a  few  more  shadows, 

And  He  will  come." 


—MRS.  B.  MACANDREW. 


e  folncl}  ttstifutb  tins*  things  sat%  Smnlu  $  tome  qinckhr." 
— Rev.  xxii,  20. 


Under  the  Shadow  of  the  Almighty. 

NDER  the  shadow  of  his  wings ; 
Oh  sweetest  rest ! 
Thou  canst  not  find,  my  soul,  an  hiding-place 
So  safe  as  in  thy  Father's  arms  of  grace ; 
He  calls  them  blest 
Who  find  the  joy  his  promise  brings. 

There  is  no  other  resting  place, 
My  soul,  so  dear  ; 
The  shadow  of  his  wings  is  great  and  wide, 
And  yet  so  near  it  draws  thee  to  his  side, 
So  very  near, 
'Tis  like  a  glimpse  of  his  loved  face. 

Under  the  shadow  of  his  wings ; 
Oh,  who  may  stay  ? 


fitep  me  as  tin  apple  of  i\z  t%z,  Ipibc  mc  miber  i\)t  slrabofo  of  tip 
foitvgs." — Psa.  xvii,  8. 


They  who  find  rest  within  his  secret  place, 
They  who  find  joy  but  in  his  own  rich  grace, 
And  only  they, 
May  know  the  joy  the  shadow  brings. 

For  joy,  not  born  of  earthly  things, 
Fills  all  the  place  ; 
Come  near,  my  soul,  come  closer,  closer  still, 
See !  thou  art  shielded  now  from  ever  ill — 
Rest  in  God's  grace, 
Under  the  shadow  of  his  wings. 

— MILLIE  COLCORD. 


Time. 


'ARTHLY  things 

Are  but  the  transient  pageants  of  an  hour ; 
And  earthly  pride  is  like  the  passing  flower, 
That  springs  to  fall,  and  blossoms  but  to  die 
'Tis  as  the  tower  erected  on  a  cloud, 
Baseless  and  silly  as  the  schoolboy's  dream. 
Ages  and  epochs  that  destroy  our  pride, 
And  then  record  its  downfall,  what  are  they 
But  the  poor  creatures  of  man's  teeming  brain? 
Hath  Heaven  its  ages  ?  or  doth  Heaven  preserve 
Its  stated  eras?    Doth  the  Omnipotent 
Hear  of  to-morrows  or  of  yesterdays  ? 
There  is  to  God  nor  future  nor  a  past ; 
Throned  in  His  might,  all  times  to  Him  are  present 
He  hath  no  lapse,  no  past,  no  time  to  come ; 
He  sees  before  Him  one  eternal  Now. 


"  $cI;olb,  nob  is  tbc  ;uteptcb  time;  bebo lb,  nofo  is  tlje  ban  of 
saltation." — 2  Cor.  vi.  2. 


TIME. 


Time  moveth  not ! — our  being  'tis  that  moves  ; 
And  we,  swift  gliding  down  life's  rapid  stream, 
Dream  of  swift  ages  and  revolving  years, 

Ordained  to  chronicle  our  pass- 
ing days : 
So  the  young  sailor  in  the  gal- 
lant bark, 
Scudding"  before  the  wind,  be- 
holds the  coast 
Receding  from  his  eyes,  and 

thinks  the  while, 
Struck  with  amaze,  that  he  is 

motionless, 
And  that  the  land  is  sailing 

Such,  alas! 
Are  the  illusions  of  this  proteus 
life! 

All,  all  is  false :  through  every 

phasis  still 
'Tis  shadowy  and  deceitful.  It 

assumes 

The  semblances  of  things  and  specious  shapes ; 
But  the  lost  traveler  might  as  soon  rely 
On  the  evasive  spirit  of  the  marsh, 


"d  or  tit  tjje  multitude,  of  breams  anb  many  foorbs  tjjrre  arc  also 
bibrrs  banities  :  but  fear  tljou  (Sob." — Eccl.  v,  7. 


3 


TIME. 


Whose  lantern  beams,  and  vanishes,  and  flits, 
O'er  bog,  and  rock,  and  pit,  and  hollow  way, 
As  we  on  its  appearances. 


On  earth 

There  is  nor  certainty  nor  stable  hope. 

As  well  the  weary  mariner,  whose  bark 

Is  tossed  beyond  Cimmerian  Bosphorus, 

Where  storm  and  darkness  hold  their  drear  domain, 

And  sunbeams  never  penetrate,  might  trust 

To  expectation  of  serener  skies, 

And  linger  in  the  very  jaws  of  death, 

Because  some  peevish  cloud  were  opening, 

Or  the  loud  storm  had  bated  in  its  rage  ; 

As  we  look  forward  in  this  vale  of  tears 

To  permanent  delight— from  some  slight  glimpse 

Of  shadowy,  unsubstantial  happiness. 


The  good  man's  hope  is  laid  far,  far  beyond 

The  sway  of  tempests,  or  the  furious  sweep 

Of  mortal  desolation — He  beholds, 

Unapprehensive,  the  gigantic  stride 

Of  rampant  Ruin,  or  the  unstable  waves 

Of  dark  Vicissitude.  —Even  in  death — 

In  that  dread  hour,  when,  with  a  giant  pang, 


tl^ouglj  |  Inalk  tl^raugb  tl;e  balleu  of  %  sbacofo  of  bjnllj, 
|  foil!  fm  no  zb'iL" — Psa.  xxiii,  4. 


Tearing  the  tender  fibres  of  the  heart, 

The  immortal  spirit  struggles  to  be  free — 

Then,  even  then,  that  hope  forsakes  him  not, 

For  it  exists  beyond  the  narrow  verge 

Of  the  cold  sepulchre.    The  petty  joys 

Of  fleeting  life  indignantly  it  spurned, 

And  rested  on  the  bosom  of  its  God. 

This  is  man's  only  reasonable  hope  ; 

And  'tis  a  hope  which,  cherished  in  the  breast, 

Shall  not  be  disappointed.    Even  He, 

The  Holy  One — Almighty — who  elanced 

The  rolling  world  along  its  airy  way, 

Even  He  will  deign  to  smile  upon  the  good, 

And  welcome  him  to  these  celestial  seats, 

Where  joy  and  gladness  hold  their  changeless  reign. 

— HENRY  KIRKE  WHITE. 


fouheb  is  bribttt  afoag  in  Iris  fokluim«ss;  but  t\}t  riglrisous 
Iratli  l^opc  in  Iris  btstlj." — Prov.  xiv,  32. 


He  is  Risen. 


ypHE  tomb  is  empty ;  wouldst  thou  have  it  full  ? 
llih        Still  sadly  clasping  the  unbreathing  clay  ; 
O  weak  in  faith,  O  slow  of  heart  and  dull, 
To  doat  on  darkness,  and  shut  out  the  day ! 

The  tomb  is  empty;  He  who,  three  short  days, 

After  a  sorrowing  life's  long  weariness, 
Found  refuge  in  this  rocky  resting-place, 
Has  now  ascended  to  the  throne  of  bliss. 

Here  lay  the  Holy  One,  the  Christ  of  God, 

He  who  for  death  gave  death,  and  life  for  life ; 
Our  heavenly  Kinsman,  our  true  flesh  and  blood ; 
Victor  for  us  on  hell's  dark  field  of  strife. 

This  was  the  Bethel,  where,  on  stony  bed, 

While  angels  went  and  came  from  morn  till  even, 
Our  truer  Jacob  laid  his  wearied  head  ; 
This  was  to  him  the  very  gate  of  heaven. 


ie  is  not  lure:  for  bz  is  xxstn." 
— Matt,  xxviii,  6. 


The  Conqueror,  not  the  conquer'd,  He  to  whom 
The  keys  of  death  and  of  the  grave  belong, 

Cross'd  the  cold  threshold  of  the  stranger's  tomb, 
To  spoil  the  spoiler  and  to  bind  the  strong. 

Here  death  had  reigned ;  into  no  tomb  like  this 
Had  man's  fell  foe  aforetime  found  his  way  ; 

So  grand  a  trophy  ne'er  before  was  his, 
So  vast  a  treasure,  so  divine  a  prey. 

But  now  his  triumph  ends ;  the  rock-barr'd  door 
Is  open'd  wide,  and  the  Great  Pris'ner  gone  ; 

Look  round  and  see,  upon  the  vacant  floor 
The  napkin  and  the  grave-clothes  lie  alone. 

Yes,  death's  last  hope,  his  strongest  fort  and  prison 

Is  shatter'd,  never  to  be  built  again ; 
And  He,  the  mighty  Captive,  He  is  risen, 

Leaving  behind  the  gate,  the  bar,  the  chain. 

Yes,  He  is  ris'n  who  is  the  First  and  Last ; 

Who  was  and  is  ;  who  liveth  and  was  dead ; 
Beyond  the  reach  of  death  he  now  has  pass'd, 

Of  the  one  glorious  Church  the  glorious  Head. 

— HORATIUS  BONAR,  D.  D. 


|  asunb  unto  mu  Jfatjjcr,  anb  gour  Jfatlm" ;  anb  to  mj)  (Sob,  anb 
gonr  (Sob." — John  xx,  17. 


Even-Song. 


LL  day  the  birds  are  singing  as  they  flit  from  grove  and  tree, 
But  at  twilight  hath  their  music  the  sweetest  sound  to  me, 

For  then  all  tones  are  gathered  into  one  full-tided  chord, 
And  up  from  wood  and  meadow  arises  "  Praise  the  Lord." 

The  soft  wind  bears  it  onward,  low  murmuring  in  the  pines, 
I  hear  it  in  the  rustle  of  the  moth  amid  the  vines. 

The  bee  that  swingeth  homeward,  after  honey-seeking  hours, 
Hath  the  secret,  in  his  whirring,  of  the  vivid  life  of  flowers. 

The  cattle  slowly  wending  from  the  pasture-land  their  way, 
In  every  tinkle  of  their  bells,  tell  of  the  ending  day. 

Then,  sudden  from  the  orchard,  out  rings  the  robin's  note, 
In  silver  trills  around  me  his  rapture  seems  to  float. 


JSTct  tin  jjeabens  rejoice,  anb  let  tlje  earthy  be  glab ;  let  %  sea  roar, 
anb  %  fulness  thereof." — Psa.  xcvi,  u. 


 :  


>  -its* 


And,  listening,  my  spirit  is  borne  to  realms  afar, 

Yet  near,  as  near  as  heaven,  where  the  happy  ransomed  are. 

I  join  my  silence  unto  the  many-threaded  strain 

That  unto  God  uplifted,  goes  on  through  joy  and  pain. 

Away  from  space  and  limits,  away  from  time  and  sense, 
I  send  my  thought  to  find  its  rest  in  God's  kind  providence. 

For,  at  night,  when  work  is  over,  and  cares  awhile  retreat, 
The  soul  must  breathe  its  even-song  low  at  the  Father's  feet. 

— MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER. 


A  Little  Longer. 


H,  to  be  in  Jesus's  bosom, 

There  to  hide  my  pain  and  care, 

There  to  feel  his  arms  around  me, 
All  my  trouble  ended  there! 

Oh,  to  be  in  quiet  lying 

On  his  peace-insuring  breast, 

There  forgetting  sin  and  sorrow, 
There  forevermore  at  rest ! 

Ties,  that  hold  us  here,  unknotted 
In  the  faith  we  there  must  know- 
Willing,  in  his  trusted  presence, 
To  let  earthly  dear  things  go: 

Willing  to  resign  the  dearest, 
Even  the  flesh  of  our  flesh  born, 

Even  the  baby,  in  our  dying 
Left  so  humanly  forlorn! 


Ah !  I  feel  his  tiny  fingers 

Reaching  helplessly  to  me ; 
Let  me  still  a  little  longer 

Painful,  sorrowing,  troubled  be, 

So  I  yet  may  be  his  comfort, 

Shield  him  from  the  bitter  cold, 
Lead  him  by  my  guiding  counsel 

To  a  tender  Saviour's  fold! 

Not  until  my  task  is  ended, 

Task  of  toil  or  agony, 
Would  I  close  my  weary  eyelids 

And  in  bliss  forever  be  : 

Not  until  life's  work  is  finished 

Would  I  seek  the  perfect  rest 
That  awaits  the  poor  believer 

Sinking  tired  on  Jesus'  breast. 

— MARY  B.  DODGE. 


Evening. 


ENTLY  the  dew  falls  on  the  grass, 
The  winds  are  hushed  to  rest, 

And  softly  sinks  the  crescent  moon, 
Adown  the  quiet  west. 

And  one  by  one,  as  shadows  fall, 
The  stars  come  out  on  high, 

Till  in  full  brightness  spreads  unveiled 
The  glory  of  the  sky. 

I  sit  upon  the  summer  hills, 
Far  from  the  noisy  throng, 

And  hear  the  modest  night-bird  sing 
Her  low  and  plaintive  song. 

The  little  streamlets  bright  and  clear 

Go  singing  on  their  way, 
While  countless  insect  voices  weave 

Their  never-ending  lay. 


"gill  %>  toorks  sjmll  praist  tl;ee,  ©  forb." 
— Psa.  cxlv,  10. 


0  God,  in  such  an  hour  as  this, 
How  yearns  the  soul  to  know 

The  mysteries  of  the  heavens  above 
And  of  the  earth  below ! 

An  atom  in  the  boundless  whole, 
A  speck  upon  the  air, 

1  seem  as  one  engulfed  and  lost, 
Without  a  Father's  care. 

My  life  I  draw,  I  know  not  how, 
From  the  mysterious  past ; 

Before  me  stretches  all  unknown 
A  future  strange  and  vast. 

What  part  have  I  in  this  wide  realm  ? 

What  place  have  I  to  fill  ? 
Or  can  the  smallest  issue  hang 

Upon  my  wavering  will  ? 

Yet  folded  in  these  shades  of  night, 

My  busy  thoughts  arise, 
To  range  afar  the  fields  of  earth, 

And  wander  through  the  skies. 


|Torb(  bob  manifolb  arc  t|jg  fcoorks!  in  fotssbom  bust  iljou  mabe 
tjjem  all." — Psa.  civ,  24. 


r 


EVENING. 


99 


Is  there  a  hand  that  reaches  down 
From  out  this  vast  unknown  ? 

Is  there  a  love  that  beckons  me 
To  the  eternal  throne  ? 

I  ask  the  silent  stars  above, 

As  men  have  asked  of  old, 
No  voice  comes  from  them,  as  they  look 

On  mountains  still  and  cold. 

The  entrance  of  Thy  Word,  O  God! 

Alone  can  break  this  night, 
And  shed  o'er  all  the  way  I  go 

A  clear  and  living  light. 

By  faith,  I  take  that  blessed  Word 

And  follow  at  its  call ; 
The  God  who  made  the  heavens  and  earth, 

Ca.i  see  and  know  them  all. 


— REV.  I.   N.  TARBOX,  D.  D. 


foorb  is  h  lamp  unto  mo  iett,  anb  a  Itgbt  unto  mg  ptj).: 
Psa.  cxix,  105. 


PICTURE  memory  brings  to  me ; 
I  look  across  the  years  and  see 
Myself  beside  my  mother's  knee. 

I  feel  her  gentle  hand  restrain 

My  selfish  moods,  and  know  again 

A  child's  blind  sense  of  wrong  and  pain. 

But  wiser  now,  a  man  gray  grown, 
My  childhood's  needs  are  better  known, 
My  mother's  chastening  love  I  own. 

Gray  grown,  but  in  our  Father's  sight 
A  child  still  groping  for  the  light 
To  read  His  works  and  ways  aright. 

.1  bow  myself  beneath  His  hand : 
That  pain  itself  for  good  was  planned, 
I  trust,  but  cannot  understand. 


tbat  fear  iht  JCorir,  trust  in  tjj*  ITcrb ;  b*  is  tlmr  htly  anb  tlmr 
sl;ielb." — Psa.  cxv,  n 


r4  I 


MS 


TRUST. 


I  fondiy  dream  it  needs  must  be 
That  as  my  mother  dealt  with  me, 
So  with  His  children  dealeth  He. 

J.  wait  and  trust  the  end  will  prove 
That  here  and  there,  below,  above, 
The  chastening  heals,  the  pain  is  love  ! 

— JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


SlM'stb  is  %t  man  tfcafmahetj}  fyt  %oib  I)is  trust." 
— Psa.  xl,  4. 


Christian's  Clock. 


"§Ub  Christian  mtibz  a  sbrine  for  %  Ijours  tl^*  $Torb  I^ab  gtben 
bim;  anb  from  %  serine  a  golben  tljain  fnas  linheb  to  tl^e  great  bell 
at  tjje  prager-gate,  anb  to  J) en  tin  bell  strath,  tl)c  angel  oneneb  tlje  gate 
anb  gabc  back  tlje  anstoer." — Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

E  bell  tolls  one — 

Teach  me  to  say, 
"Thy  will  be  done." 


The  bell  tolls  ttoo— 
Help  me  each  day 
Thy  will  to  do. 

The  bell  tolls  tbm- 

I  ask  in  faith 
To  follow  Thee. 


«Jfor  bn  me  tljn  bans  sball  be  multtplteb,  anb  tlje  gears  of  tl^g  life 

s^all  be  hureaseb." — Prov.  ix,  n.  J 

:  ^0 

 ^6? 


vs 


christian's  clock. 


The  bell  tolls  four- 

I  pray  for  trust 
For  evermore. 


The  bell  tolls  5  be— 

For  Christian  speech 
Help  me  to  strive. 


The  bell  tolls  six- 
Teach  me  my  Do  u 
On  Thee  to  fix. 


The  bell  tolls  seben- 

O  make  my  life 
A  way  to  heaven. 


The  bell  tolls  ngbt- 

May  I  in  peace 
And  patience  wait. 


The  bell  tolls  nine— 

Let  <%tritir 
Be  ever  mine. 


11      "  °§ oast  not  tbnself  of  to-morroto ;  for  tljou  hnobnst  not  to  bat  a  ban 
^ ma2  bring  forth. — Prov.  xxvii,  i.  > 


The  bell  tolls  tea— 

I  pray  for  love 
To  God  and  men. 

It  tolls  elcbeu — 

Let  me  each  hour 
Be  nearer  heaven. 

ftfrielbe  strokes  I  hear! 

Now  perfect  lobe 
Hath  cast  out  fear. 


u%\tteiaxz  bz  ge  also  reabg :  for  in  gncjr  an  Ijour  as  ge  tlrink  not  the 

Jlon  of  Ulan  tonutb." — Matt,  xxiv,  44.  ^ 



The  Rose-Bud. 


O* HEN  Nature  tries  her  finest  touch, 
Waving  her  vernal  wreath, 
'    Mark  ye  how  close  she  veils  her  round, 
Not  to  be  traced  by  sight  or  sound, 
Nor  soiled  by  ruder  breath  ? 

Whoever  saw  the  earliest  Rose 
First  open  her  sweet  breast  ? 
Or,  when  the  summer  sun  goes  down, 
The  first  soft  star  in  evening's  crown 
Light  up  her  gleaming  crest  ? 

Fondly  we  seek  the  dawning  bloom 

On  features  wan  and  fair, — 
The  gazing  eye  no  change  can  trace, 
But  look  away  a  little  space, 
Then  turn,  and  lo !  'tis  there. 


§tnb  sbonlb  sleep,  anb  rise  night  anb  butt,  anb  tbe  sceb  sboulb 
spring  anb  groin  up,  be  knofcoetb  not  boto." — Mark  iv,  27. 


r 


THE  ROSE-BUD. 


109 


But  there's  a  sweeter  flower  than  e'er 

Blushed  on  the  rosy  spray — 
A  brighter  star,  a  richer  bloom, 
Than  e'er  did  western  heaven  illume 
At  close  of  summer  day. 


'Tis  love,  the  last  best  gift  of  heaven ; 

Love  gentle,  holy,  pure  : 
But  tenderer  than  a  dove's  soft  eye, 
The  searching  sun,  the  open  sky, 

She  never  could  endure. 


Even  human  love  will  shrink  from  sight 

Here  in  the  coarse,  rude  earth : 
How  then  should  rash  intruding  glance 
Break  in  upon  her  sacred  trance, 
Who  boasts  a  heavenly  birth  ? 

So  still  and  secret  is  her  growth, 

Ever  the  truest  heart, 
Where  deepest  strikes  her  kindly  root, 
For  hope  or  joy,  for  flower  or  fruit, 

Least  known  its  happy  part. 


"|8elobeb,  lei  us  lobe  one  another:  for  lobe  is  of  (loo ;  anb  eberu  one 
tjjat  lobetl)  is  born  of  6ob,  nnb  knofoctj)  (Slob." — I  John  iv,  7. 

£®i  .  , 


^9 


Ji 


God  only,  and  good  angels,  look 

Behind  the  blissful  screen — 
As  when,  triumphant  o'er  His  woes, 
The  Son  of  God  by  moonlight  rose, 
By  all  but  heaven  unseen  : 


As  when  the  Holy  Maid  beheld 

Her  risen  Son  and  Lord : 
Thought  has  not  colors  half  so  fair, 
That  she  to  paint  that  hour  may  dare 

In  silence  best  adored. 


The  gracious  dove,  that  brought  from  heaven 

The  earnest  of  our  bliss, 
Of  many  a  chosen  witness  telling, 
Of  many  a  happy  vision  dwelling, 

Sings  not  a  note  of  this 

So,  truest  image  of  the  Christ, 

Old  Israel's  long-lost  Son, 
What  time,  with  sweet  forgiving  cheer, 
He  called  His  conscious  brethren  near, 

Would  weep  with  them  alone. 


"  ISelobca.  if  <£>ob  so  lobco  us,  on  onqbt  also  to  lobe  one  another."  i 


— i  John  iv,  ii. 


•I 


He  could  not  trust  his  melting  soul 

But  in  His  Maker's  sight — 
Then  why  should  gentle  hearts  and  true 
Bare  to  the  rude  world's  withering  view 

Their  treasures  of  delight  ? 

No  ;  let  the  dainty  Rose  awhile 

Her  bashful  fragrance  hide — 
Rend  not  her  silken  veil  too  soon, 
But  leave  her,  in  her  own  soft  noon, 

To  flourish  and  abide. 

— KEBLE. 


'ftbeg  also  serbe  fobo  onto  stanb  anb  foatt." — Milton. 


HE  fields  are  whitening  'neath  the  ripening  grain  ; 
I  long  to  toil  among  the  reapers  there ; 
What  full  ripe  sheaves  I'll  gather,  ere  the  rain, 
To  show  my  gratitude  for  God's  dear  care ! 

Thus  saying,  proud  and  resolute  I  stood 
Amid  the  ever-busy,  hurrying  throng  ; 

Waiting  to  see,  in  somewhat  anxious  mood, 
The  Lord  and  Master,  as  He  passed  along, 

He  came.    Quick  pressing  through  the  eager  throng, 
I  stood  beside  Him,  near  the  open  gate  ; 

"Master,  what  shall  I  do  ?    My  soul  is  strong — ■  " 
He  turned,  and  softly  said,  "  Here  stand  and  wait ! 


1 


"  Matt  on  tjje  $Torb:  be  of  goob  courage,  anb  \t  sljall  strcngtl^rt 

lljtne  Ijcart :  toatt,  J  sun,  on  \\t  $Torb." — Psa.  xxvii,  14.  ^ 

 I  jam 


r 


WAITING. 


113 


The  hot  blood  to  my  brow  and  temples  flew — 
I  struggled  fiercely  with  my  hapless  fate — 

"  Oh,  Master,  have  you  naught  for  me  to  do  ?  " 

"Yes,"  He  replied  at  once,  "  Here  stand  and  wait." 

He  passed  along ;  and  thro'  the  weary  hours 
I  stood  with  restless  hands  and  aching  heart ; 

I  would  not  even  pluck  the  fragrant  flowers 
Beneath  my  feet,  while  thus  I  stood  apart. 

Again  He  passed — and  in  my  grief  I  said, 
"I'd  rather  die  than  only  stand  and  wait!" 

One  look  of  sad  rebuke ;  no  word  He  said, 
But  left  me  weeping  by  the  open  gate. 

The  weary,  weary  hours  come  and  pass ; 

I  watch  the  reapers  cut  the  bearded  grain ; 
I  see  their  heavy  sheaves,  and  sigh,  alas, 

That  I  may  only  watch  and  wait. 

The  night  draws  near.    I  seek  Him  once  again — 
"Oh,  Master,  see — 'tis  growing  dark,  and  late! 

I  have  no  sheaves!"    His  sweet  voice  soothes  my  pain, 
"  They  serve  me  best  who  patient  stand  and  wait ! " 


'§Ust  in  tfyz  |Torb,  antr  frrntt  patunilg  for  Ijimv 
— Psa.  xxxvii,  7. 


WAITING. 


So,  patiently,  I  strive  to  stand  and  wait 

Thro'  all  the  glories  of  the  fading  years ; 
Wait  till  His  hand  shall  lead  me  thro'  the  gate, 

And  change  my  sighs  to  songs,  to  smiles  my  tears. 

— REBECCA  RUTER  SPRINGER. 


5  fifek  


^or  tbf  Vorb  is  a  Sob  of  jubqmcnt ;  blcsscb  arc  all  thru  that  toait  ill 
for  bim." — Isa.  xxx.  iS. 


Lessons  Sweet 


ESSONS  sweet  of  spring  returning, 
Welcome  to  the  thoughtful  heart ! 
May  I  call  ye  sense  or  learning, 

Instinct  pure,  or  heav'n-taught  art? 
Be  your  title  what  it  may, 
Sweet  the  lengthening  April  day, 
While  with  you  the  soul  is  free, 
Ranging  wild  o'er  hill  and  lea. 

Soft  as  Memnon's  harp  at  morning, 

To  the  inward  ear  devout, 
Touch'd  by  light,  with  heavenly  warning 

Your  transporting  chords  ring  out. 
Every  leaf  in  every  nook, 
Every  wave  in  every  brook, 
Chanting  with  a  solemn  voice, 
Minds  us  of  our  better  choice. 


I        "gmir  tl^g  sjjall  spring.  Hp  as  among  tlu  grass,  as  foillcfcos  bg  % 
^                            toat£r  courses."—  Isa.  xliv,  4. 
_Sk  ,  ;(__P  ^> 


£®r  —  


LESSONS  SWEET. 


es>> 


117  V 


Needs  no  show  of  mountain  hoary, 
Winding  shore  or  deepening  glen, 
Where  the  landscape  in  its  glory 

Teaches  truth  to  wandering  men  : 
Give  true  hearts  but  earth  and  sky, 
And  some  flowers  to  bloom  and  die, — 
Homely  scenes  and  simple  views 
Lowly  thoughts  may  best  infuse. 

See  the  soft  green  willow  springing 

Where  the  waters  gently  pass, 
Every  way  her  free  arms  flinging 
O'er  the  moist  and  reedy  grass. 
Long  ere  winter  blasts  are  fled, 
See  her  tipp'd  with  vernal  red, 
And  her  kindly  flower  display'd 
Ere  her  leaf  can  cast  a  shade. 

Though  the  rudest  hand  assail  her, 

Patiently  she  droops  awhile, 
But  when  showers  and  breezes  hail  her, 

Wears  again  her  willing  smile. 
Thus  I  learn  Contentment's  power 
From  the  slighted  willow  bower, 
Ready  to  give  thanks  and  live 
On  the  least  that  Heaven  may  give. 


\$ut  gobliness  foitlj  contentment  is  great  gain. 
— I  Tim.  vi,  6. 


JiL 


LESSONS  SWEET. 


119 


If,  the  quiet  brooklet  leaving, 
Up  the  stony  vale  I  wind, 
»  Haply  half  in  fancy  grieving 
For  the  shades  I  leave  behind, 
By  the  dusty  wayside  drear, 
Nightingales  with  joyous  cheer 
Sing,  my  sadness  to  reprove, 
Gladlier  than  in  cultur'd  grove. 

Where  the  thickest  boughs  are  twining 
Of  the  greenest  darkest  tree, 

There  they  plunge,  the  light  declining — 
All  may  hear,  but  none  may  see. 

Fearless  of  the  passing  hoof, 

Hardly  will  they  fleet  aloof ; 

So  they  live  in  modest  ways, 

Trust  entire,  and  ceaseless  praise. 


— KEBLE. 


" <$ear  not:  for  $  am  fcoitb  %e." 
— Isa.  xliii,  5. 


The  Hour  of  Death. 


EAVES  have  their  time  to  fall, 
And  flowers  to  wither  at  the  north-wind's  breath, 

And  stars  to  set — but  all, 
Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  O  Death. 


Day  is  for  mortal  care  ; 
Eve,  for  glad  meetings  round  the  joyful  hearth  ; 

Night,  for  the  dreams  of  sleep,  the  voice  of  prayer 
But  all  for  thee,  thou  mightiest  of  the  earth. 

The  banquet  hath  its  hour, 
Its  feverish  hour  of  mirth,  and  song,  and  wine ; 

There  comes  a  day  for  grief's  o'erwhelming  power, 
A  time  for  softer  tears — but  all  are  thine. 


"He  touutlj  fortlj  like  a  flofoer,  ana  is  tut  bourn.' 
— Job  xiv,  2. 


r 


THE  HOUR  OF  DEATH. 


121  "I 


Youth  and  the  opening  rose 
May  look  like  things  too  glorious  for  decay, 

And  smile  at  thee — but  thou  art  not  of  those 
That  wait  the  ripen'd  bloom  to  seize  their  prey. 

Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall, 
And  flowers  to  wither  at  the  north-wind's  breath, 

And  stars  to  set — but  all, 
Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  O  Death. 

We  know  when  moons  shall  wane, 
When  summer  birds  from  far  shall  cross  the  sea, 

When  autumn's  hue  shall  tinge  the  golden  grain — 
But  who  shall  teach  us  when  to  look  for  thee ! 

Is  it  when  spring's  first  gale 
Comes  forth  to  whisper  where  the  violets  lie  ? 

Is  it  when  roses  in  our  paths  grow  pale  ? — 
They  have  one  season — all  are  ours  to  die ! 

Thou  art  where  billows  foam, 
Thou  art  where  music  melts  upon  the  air ; 

Thou  art  around  us  in  our  peaceful  home, 
And  the  world  calls  us  forth — and  thou  art  there. 


"$)e  flcetj)  also  as  a  slwbofo,  anb  eontinnetj)  not." 
— Job  xiv,  2. 




"    .r     122  THE  HOUR  OF  DEATH.  ^ 


Thou  art  where  friend  meets  friend, 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  elm  to  rest — 

Thou  art  where  foe  meets  foe,  and  trumpets  rend 
The  skies,  and  swords  beat  down  the  princely  crest. 

Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall, 
And  flowers  to  wither  at  the  north-wind's  breath, 

And  stars  to  set — but  all, 
Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  O  Death. 

— MRS.  HEMANS. 


(3/vJg) 


Softly. 

OFTLY  comes  the  sunset  hour, 
With  its  fading  light ; 
Softly  steals  a  sweet  repose 
O'er  the  coming  night. 

Softly  do  the  happy  birds 

Evening-notes  repeat ; 
Softly,  'mid  the  leafy  trees, 

Sigh  the  zephyrs  sweet. 

Softly  fades  the  dying  Day 

In  the  golden  west ; 
Softly  comes  the  silent  Night 

Like  a  dream  of  rest. 

Softly  as  this  sunset  scene, 

When  I'm  called  away, 
I  would  pass  the  Vale  of  Night 

To  the  Gates  of  Day!         — e.  a.  barnes. 


"|)e  makctj)  tbc  storm  a  calm,  so  Ijmt  t\t  foabcs  thereof  arc  still.' 
— Psa.  cvii,  29. 


^§5 


The  Father's  Care  for  His  Children. 


IRST  Father  of  the  holy  seed, 
If  yet,  invoked  in  hour  of  need, 
Thou  count  me  for  Thine  own, 


Not  quite  an  outcast  if  I  prove, 
(Thou  joy' st  in  miracles  of  love) 
Hear,  from  Thy  mercy-throne! 

Upon  thine  altar's  horn  of  gold 
Help  me  to  lay  my  trembling  hold, 

Though  stain'd  with  Christian  gore — 
The  blood  of  souls  by  Thee  redeem'd, 
But,  while  I  rov'd  or  idly  dream'd, 

Lost  to  be  found  no  more. 

For  oft,  when  summer  leaves  were  bright, 
And  every  flower  was  bath'd  in  light, 
In  sunshine  moments  past, 


"Habe  mertg  upon  me,  @  ITora;  for  |  am  buak." 
— Psa.  vi.  2. 


THE  FATHER'S  CARE  FOR  HIS  CHILDREN. 


My  wilful  heart  would  burst  away 
From  where  the  holy  shadow  lay', 
Where  Heaven  my  lot  had  cast. 

I  thought  it  scorn  with  Thee  to  dwell, 
A  Hermit  in  a  silent  cell, 

While,  gaily  sweeping  by, 
Wild  Fancy  blew  his  bugle  strain, 
And  marshall'd  all  his  gallant  train 

In  the  world's  wondering  eye. 


I  would  have  join'd  him — but  as  oft 
Thy  whisper'd  warnings,  kind  and  soft, 

My  better  soul  confess'd, 
"  My  servant,  let  the  world  alone — 
Safe  on  the  steps  of  Jesus'  throne 

Be  tranquil  and  be  blest. 


"  Seems  it  to  thee  a  niggard  hand 
That  nearest  Heaven* has  bade  thee  stand, 

The  ark  to  touch  and  bear, 
With  incense  of  pure  heart's  desire 
To  heap  the  censer's  sacred  fire, 

The  snow-white  ephod  wear  ?  " 


"  Jfor  |  Knefa  ijjat  fyan  art  a  graetous  (Sob,  anb  mtxdinl,  slob:  to 
ang*r,  ano  of  goat  hittbtuss." — Jonah  iv,  2. 


1 


Why  should  we  crave  the  worldling's  wreath, 
On  whom  the  Saviour  deign'd  to  breathe, 

To  whom  His  keys  were  given, 
Who  lead  the  choir  where  Angels  meet, 
With  Angels'  food  our  brethren  greet, 

And  pour  the  drink  of  heaven  ? 


When  sorrow  all  our  heart  would  ask, 
We  need  not  shun  our  daily  task, 

And  hide  ourselves  for  calm ; 
The  herbs  we  seek  to  heal  our  woe 
Familiar  by  our  pathway  grow, 

Our  common  air  is  balm. 

Around  each  pure  domestic  shrine 
Bright  flowers  of  Eden  bloom  and  twine, 

Our  hearths  are  altars  all ; 
The  prayers  of  hungry  souls  and  poor, 
Like  armed  Angels  at  the  door, 

Our  unseen  foes  appal. 

Alms  all  around  and  hymns  within — 
What  evil  eye  can  entrance  win 
Where  guards  like  these  abound  ? 


§ome  trust  in  chariots,  antr  some  in  I^orscs :  but  £oe  hull  remember 
tlu  name  of  tin  |Torb  our  <Soo." — Psa.  xx,  7. 


THE  FATHER'S  CARE  FOR  HIS  CHILDREN.  127 


If  chance  some  heedless  heart  should  roam, 
Sure,  thought  of  these  will  lure  it  home 
Ere  lost  in  Folly's  round. 

O  joys,  that  sweetest  in  decay, 
Fall  not,  like  wither'd  leaves,  away, 

But  with  the  silent  breath 
Of  violets  drooping  one  by  one, 
Soon  as  their  fragrant  task  is  done, 

Are  wafted  high  in  death ! 

— KEBLE. 


"ftjjou  anoint  est  mu  Juab  foil  J)  oil;  mn  rnp.  runneth  ofaer." 
^  — Psa.  xxiii,  5. 

^  :  i(£ 


The  Covered  Bridge. 


ELL  the  fainting  soul  in  the  weary  form, 
There's  a  world  of  the  purest  bliss, 
That  is  linked,  as  the  soul  and  form  are  linked, 
By  a  Covered  Bridge,  with  this. 

Yet  to  reach  that  realm  on  the  other  shore 
We  must  pass  through  a  transient  gloom, 

And  must  walk,  unseen,  unhelped  and  alone, 
Through  that  Covered  Bridge— the  tomb. 

But  we  all  pass  over  on  equal  terms, 

For  the  universal  toll 
Is  the  outer  garb,  which  the  hand  of  God 

Has  flung  around  the  soul. 


tub  anb  poor  meet  together ;  tbc  forb  is  i\t  maker  of 
all-." — Prov.  xxii,  2. 


r 


THE  COVERED  BRIDGE. 


129 


Though  the  eye  is  dim,  and  the  bridge  is  dark, 

And  the  river  it  spans  is  wide, 
Yet  faith  points  through  to  a  shining  mount 

That  looms  on  the  other  side. 

To  enable  our  feet  in  the  next  day's  march, 

To  climb  up  that  golden  ridge, 
We  must  all  lie  down  for  one  night's  rest 

Inside  of  the  Covered  Bridge. 


'Mzxtfy  is  sfcoallcrhui}  up  in  bictorn." 
— i  Cor.  xv,  54. 


1 


The  Lily  of  the  Valley. 


fAIR  flower,  that,  lapt  in  lowly  glade, 
Dost  hide  beneath  the  greenwood  shade, 
Than  whom  the  vernal  gale 
None  fairer  wakes,  on  bank  or  spray, 
Our  England's  Lily  of  the  May, 
Our  Lily  of  the  Vale ! 

Art  thou  that  "  Lily  of  the  field," 
Which,  when  the  Saviour  sought  to  shield 

The  heart  from  blank  despair, 
.  He  showed  to  our  mistrustful  kind, 
An  emblem  of  the  thoughtful  mind, 

Of  God's  paternal  care  ? 

Not  this,  I  trow  ;  for  brighter  shine 
To  the  warm  skies  of  Palestine 
Those  children  of  the  East : 


"Consider  i\t  lilies  of  i\}t  fielb,  Jjofo  tbeg  grofo;  i\t^  toil  not, 
neither  tro  fjug,  spin." — Matt,  vi,  28. 


^5 


r 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY. 


131 


There,  when  mild  autumn's  early  rain 
Descends  on  parched  Esdrela' s  plain 
And  Tabor's  oak-girt  crest, 

More  frequent  than  the  host  of  night, 
Those  earth-born  stars,  as  sages  write, 

Their  brilliant  discs  unfold  ; 
Fit  symbol  of  imperial  state, 
Their  sceptre-seeming  forms  elate, 

And  crowns  of  burnished  gold. 

But  not  the  less,  sweet  spring-tide's  flower, 
Dost  thou  display  the  Maker's  power, 

His  skill  and  handiwork  ; 
Our  western  valleys'  humbler  child, 
Where,  in  green  nook  of  woodland  wild, 

Thy  modest  blossoms  lurk. 

What  though  nor  care  nor  art  be  thine, 
The  loom  to  ply,  the  thread  to  twine, 

Yet  born  to  bloom  and  fade, 
Thee  to  a  lovelier  robe  arrays, 
Than,  e'en  in  Israel's  brightest  days, 

Her  wealthiest  kings  arrayed. 


"§mb  jnt  1  sao  unto  jjou,  g^at  then  Solomon  in  all  bis  xjlorn  brass 

not  arratub  like  out  of  tjuse." — Matt,  vi,  29.  <* 


THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY. 


Of  thy  twin-leaves  the  embowered  screen, 
Which  wraps  thee  in  thy  shroud  of  green, 

Thy  Eden-breathing  smell ; 
Thy  arched  and  purple-vested  stem, 
Whence  pendent  many  a  pearly  gem, 

Displays  a  milk-white  bell  • 

Instinct  with  life  thy  fibrous  root, 

Which  sends  from  earth  the  ascending  ehnot. 

As  rising  from  the  dead, 
And  fills  thy  veins  with  verdant  juice, 
Charged  thy  fair  blossoms  to  produce, 

And  berries  scarlet  red  ; 

The  triple  cell,  the  twofold  seed, 
A  ceaseless  treasure-house  decreed, 

Whence  aye  thy  race  may  grow, 
As  from  creation  they  have  grown, 
While  Spring  shall  weave  her  flowery  crown, 

Or  vernal  breezes  blow  ; 

Who  forms  thee  thus,  with  unseen  hand  ? 
Who  at  creation  gave  command, 
And  willed  thee  thus  to  be  ; 


Zht  beabens  are  tbine,  tht  earth  also  is  tbtne:  as  for  tbe  foorla  anb 
thz  fulness  tbereof,  then  bast  founbeb  tbcm." — Psa.  Ixxxix,  n 


THE   LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY.  133 


And  keeps  thee  still  in  being,  through 
Age  after  age  revolving  ?  Who 
But  the  great  God  is  He? 

Omnipotent,  to  work  His  will ; 
Wise,  who  contrives  each  part  to  fill 

The  post  to  each  assigned  ; 
Still  provident  with  sleepless  care, 
To  keep  ;  to  make  thee  sweet  and  fair 

For  man's  .enjoyment— kind! 

"  There  is  no  God,:'  the  senseless  say  : — 
"O  God!  why  cast'st  thou  us  away  ?  " 

Of  feeble  faith  and  frail, 
The  mourner  breathes  his  anxious  thought ; 
By  thee  a  better  lesson  taught, 

Sweet  Lily  of  the  Vale ! 

Yes,  He  who  made  and  fosters  thee, 
In  Reason's  eye  perforce  must  be 

Of  majesty  divine ; 
Nor  deems  she  that  His  guardian  care 
Will  He  in  man's  support  forbear, 

Who  thus  provides  for  thine. 

—  BISHOP  MANT. 


'Wibtxtfoxz  nboxilo  lljc  JuatljcrT  sag,  Wibtxz  is  nobs  i\zit  (Sob." 
— Psa.  cxv.  2. 


Casting  Anchors. 


^HE  night  is  dark,  but  God,  my  God, 
Is  here  and  in  command  ; 
And  sure  am  I,  when  morning  breaks, 

I  shall  be  "at  the  land." 
And  since  I  know  the  darkness  is 

To  Him  as  sunniest  day, 
I'll  cast  the  anchor  Patience  out, 
And  wish,  but  wait  for  day. 

Fierce  drives  the  storm,  but  w  inds  and  waves 

Within  His  hand  are  held, 
And  trusting  in  Omnipotence, 

My  fears  are  sweetly  quelled. 
If  wrecked,  I'm  in  His  faithful  grasp, 

I'll  trust  Him  though  He  slay ; 
So,  letting  go  the  anchor  Faith, 
I'll  wish,  but  wait  for  day. 


"38ut  if  foe  bope  for  tbat  be  see  not,  ll^cn  ire  foe  fotllj  patience  foait 
for  it." — Rom.  viii,  25. 


Iff 


CASTING  ANCHORS. 


Still  seem  the  moments  dreary,  long  ? 

I  rest  upon  the  Lord ; 
I  muse  on  His  "eternal  years," 

And  feast  upon  His  word, 
His  promises  so  rich  and  great, 

Are  my  support  and  stay ; 
I'll  drop  the  anchor  Hope  ahead, 

And  wish,  but  wait  for  day. 

O  wisdom  infinite !  O  light 

And  love  supreme,  divine, 
How  can  I  feel  one  fluttering  doubt, 

In  hands  so  dear  as  Thine  ; 
I'll  lean  on  Thee,  my  best  Beloved, 

My  heart  on  Thy  heart  I  lay  ; 
And  casting  out  the  anchor  Love, 

I'll  wish  and  wait  for  day. 


|       '  ^ut  Let  its,  tol;o  are  of  t\}t  bay,  be  sober,  putting  on  the  breastplate 


of  faxtl)  anb  lob*." — I  Thes.  v,  8. 


Nobody  Knows  hut  Jesus.39 


OBODY  knows  but  Jesus! 
'Tis  only  the  old  refrain 
Of  a  quaint,  pathetic  slave-song, 
But  it  comes  again  and  again. 

I  only  heard  it  quoted, 

And  I  do  not  know  the  rest ; 

But  the  music  of  the  message 
Was  wonderfully  blessed. 

For  it  fell  upon  my  spirit 

Like  sweetest  twilight  psalm, 

"When  the  breezy  sunset  waters  » 
Die  into  starry  calm. 

Nobody  knows  but  Jesus ! 

Is  it  not  better  so, 
That  no  one  else  but  Jesus, 

My  own  dear  Lord,  should  know  ? 


"Cast  tl^u  burton  upon  i\z  $Torb,  anb  \t  shall  sustain  tljn." 
— Psa.  lv,  22. 


When  the  sorrow  is  a  secret 
Between  my  Lord  and  me, 

I  learn  the  fuller  measure 
Of  His  quick  sympathy. 


Whether  it  be  so  heavy, 
That  dear  ones  could  not  bear 

To  know  the  bitter  burden 

They  could  not  come  and  share  ; 


Whether  it  be  so  tiny, 
That  others  could  not  see 

Why  it  should  be  a  trouble, 
And  seem  so  real  to  me ; 


Either,  and  both,  I  lay  them 
Down  at  my  Master's  feet, 

And  find  them,  alone  with  Jesus, 
Mysteriously  sweet. 

Sweet,  for  they  bring  me  closer 
To  the  dearest,  truest  Friend  ; 

Sweet,  for  He  comes  the  nearer, 
As  'neath  the  cross  I  bend ; 


44  Jfor  mxj  goHe  is  zn&j*,  anb-  mv  hnthm  is  Itgbt. 
— Matt,  xi,  30. 


Sweet,  for  they  are  the  channels 
Through  which  His  teachings  flow  ; 

Sweet,  for  by  these  dark  secrets 
His  heart  of  love  I  know. 

Nobody  knows  but  Jesus! 

It  is  music  for  to-day, 
And  through  the  darkest  hours 

It  will  chime  along  the  way. 

Nobody  knows-  but  Jesus! 

My  Lord,  I  bless  Thee  now 
For  the  sacred  gift  of  sorrow 

That  no  one  knows  but  Thou. 

— FRANCES  RIDLEY  HAVERGAL. 


0 


"Cover  Them  Over." 


!OVER  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers ; 
Deck  them  with  garlands,  those  brothers  of  ours ; 
Lying  so  silent,  by  night  and  by  day, 
Sleeping  the  years  of  their  manhood  away ; 
Years  they  had  marked  for  the  joys  of  the  brave  : 
Years  they  must  waste  in  the  sloth  of  the  grave. 
All  the  bright  laurels  they  fought  to  make  bloom, 
Fell  to  the  earth  when  they  went  to  the  tomb. 
Give  them  the  meed  they  have  won  in  the  past ; 
Give  them  the  honors  their  merits  forecast ; 
Give  them  the  chaplets  they  won  in  the  strife ; 
Give  them  the  laurels  they  lost  with  their  life. 
Cover  them  over, — yes,  cover  them  over,— 
Parent,  and  husband,  and  brother,  and  lover  ; 
Crown  in  your  heart  those  dead  heroes  of  ours, 
And  cover  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers. 
******* 
Cover  the  thousands  who  sleep  far  away — - 
Sleep  where  their  friends  cannot  find  them  to-day ; 


"got  ht 


gibe  Ms  angels  charge  obn  tlue. 
— Psa.  xci,  ii. 


Si* 


r     142  "COVER  THEM  OVER.  ' 


They  who  in  mountain,  and  hillside,  and  dell, 
Rest  where  they  wearied,  and  lie  where  they  fell. 
Softly  the  grass-blade  creeps  round  their  repose ; 
Sweetly  around  them  the  wild  flow'ret  blows ; 
Zephyrs  of  freedom  fly  gently  o'erhead, 
Whispering  names  for  the  patriot  dead. 
So  in  our  minds  we  will  name  them  once  more, 
So  in  our  hearts  we  will  cover  them  o'er  ; 
Roses,  and  lilies,  and  violets  blue, 
Bloom  in  our  souls  for  the  brave  and  the  true. 
Cover  them  over, — yes,  cover  them  over, — 
Parent,  and  husband,  and  brother,  and  lover  ; 
Think  of  these  far-away  heroes  of  ours, 
And  cover  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers. 

— FROM  WILL  CARLETON'S  "FARM  LEGENDS.' 


:'|je  sball  coder  %e  bhlj  Ijis  featbcrs,  nnb  unber      Goings  sfrali 
%u  trust."— Psa.  xci,  4. 


0 


The  Secret  of  a  Happy  Day. 


UST  to  let  thy  Father  do 
What  He  will ; 
Just  to  know  that  He  is  true, 

And  he  still. 
Just  to  follow  hour  by  hour 

As  He  leadeth ; 
Just  to  draw  the  moment's  power 
As  it  needeth. 
Just  to  trust  Him,  this  is  all ! 

Then  the  day  will  surely  be 
Peaceful,  whatsoe'er  befall, 

Bright  and  blessed,  calm  and  free. 

Just  to  let  Him  speak  to  thee 

Through  His  Word, 
Watching,  that  His  voice  may  be 

Clearly  heard. 


L 

fee 


<£be  %ztxzt  al  i\)t  ^orh  is  fottb  tbm  tjret  fear  (jinr;  anb  bz  foill 

slufo  fytm  l)is  covenant." — Psa.  xxv,  14.  ratoa 


Just  to  tell  Him  everything 

As  it  rises, 
And  at  once  to  Him  to  bring 
All  surprises. 
Just  to  listen,  and  to  stay 

"Where  you  cannot  miss  His  voice. 
This  is  all !  and  thus  to-day, 
Communing,  you  shall  rejoice. 

Just  to  ask  Him  what  to  do 

All  the  day, 
And  to  make  you  quick  and  true 

To  obey. 
Just  to  know  the  needed  grace 

He  bestoweth, 
Every  bar  of  time  and  place 
Overfloweth. 
Just  to  take  thy  orders  straight 

From  the  Master's  own  command. 
Blessed  day !  when  thus  we  wait 
Always  at  our  Sovereign's  hand. 

Just  to  recollect  His  love, 

Always  true ; 
Always  shining  from  above, 

Always  new. 


'%]it  \\nntx  of  our  (&ob  is  upon  all  tb*m  for  goob  tjmt  seek  J)im." 


THE  SECRET  OF  A  HAPPY  DAY. 


145 


Just  to  recognize  its  light, 

All-enfolding ; 
Just  to  claim  its  present  might, 
All-upholding. 
Just  to  know  it  as  thine  own, 

That  no  power  can  take  away. 
Is  not  this  enough  alone 

For  the  gladness  of  the  day  ? 

Just  to  trust,  and  yet  to  ask 

Guidance  still ; 
Take  the  training  or  the  task, 

As  He  will. 
Just  to  take  the  loss  or  gain, 

As  He  sends  it ; 
Just  to  take  the  joy  or  pain, 
As  He  lends  it. 
He  who  formed  thee  for  His  praise 
Will  not  miss  the  gracious  aim  ; 
So  to-day  and  all  thy  days 

Shall  be  moulded  for  the  same. 

Just  to  leave  in  His  dear  hand 

Little  things, 
All  we  cannot  understand, 

All  that  stings. 


"glinb  i\t  %ox\s  gjmll  aniire  t\u  continually." 
— Isa.  lviii,  n. 


J 


Just  to  let  Him  take  the  care 

Sorely  pressing, 
Finding  all  we  let  Him  bear 
Changed  to  blessing. 
This  is  all !  and  yet  the  way 

Marked  by  Him  who  loves  thee  best : 
Secret  of  a  happy  day, 

Secret  of  His  promised  rest. 

— FRANCES  RIDLEY  HAVERGAL. 


i 

Ji 


'Casting  all  nonr  tare  upon  Jjint;  for  I^-e  cantl)  for  gou." 
— I  Peter  v,  7. 


it 


^6? 


A  Midnight  Hymn. 


H\t  mi\ax%§i%  of  %  following,  beautiful  jjumn  of  trust  is  un- 
known. |t  teas  founb  treasureb  up  ht  an  IwmbU  cottage  in  (fnglanb. 

SI 

pN  the  mild  silence  of  the  voiceless  night, 

When,  chased  by  airy  dreams  the  slumbers  flee, 
Whom  in  the  darkness  doth  my  spirit  seek, 
O  God !  but  thee? 


And  if  there  be  a  weight  upon  my  breast — 
Some  vague  impression  of  the  day  foregone — 
Scarce  knowing  what  it  is,  I  fly  to  thee 
And  lay  it  down. 

So  if  it  be  the  heaviness  that  comes 
In  token  of  anticipated  ill, 
My  bosom  takes  no  heed  of  what  it  is, 
Since  'tis  thy  will. 


>ob  is  fcoit^  i\n  in  all  tl^at  tl^ou  boest." 
— Gen.  xxi,  22. 


r  148 


A  MIDNIGHT  HYMN. 


(2b  v© 


For  O !  in  spite  of  past  and  present 
care, 

|  Or  anything  besides,  how  joyfully 
Passes  that  almost  solitary  hour, 
My  God,  with  thee. 

More  tranquil  than  the  stillness  of  the 
night, 

More  peaceful  than  the  silence  of  that 
hour, 

More  blest  than  anything  ;  my  bosom 
lies 

Beneath  thy  power. 

For  what  is  there  on  earth  that  I 
desire, 

Of  all  that  it  can  give  or  take  from 
me  ? 

Or  whom  in  heaven  doth  my  spirit 
seek, 

O  God!  but  thee? 


i      u<§ni  if  ang  man  be  a  foorsljiper  of  (Sob,  antr  boxtlj  jjis  foill,  Ijtm 
bearttlj." — John  ix,  31. 


bx 


Joy  Cometh. 


NLY  a  baby,  with  winsome  face, 
Daintily  showing  each  baby  grace, 
Only  filling  baby's  place, — 

Yet  the  dear  Lord  sent  it  here. 
Only  a  child  with  golden  hair, 
Gathering  sunshine,  instead  of  care, 
Followed  by  many  an  earnest  prayer, 
And  many  an  anxious  fear. 

Only  a  maiden,  loving  and  true, 
Waiting  for  some  great  work  to  do  ; 
Looking  forward  the  long  years  through, 

But  the  Lord  was  over  all. 
Only  a  mother,  with  patient  feet, 
With  tender  love  for  her  little  one  sweet, 
Praying  wisdom  to  guide  her  feet, 

And  the  dear  Lord  heard  the  call. 


"1  foill  instruct  i\}tz  anb  tench  thee  in  the  ferny  fobiclj  than  sjialt  go: 
|  foill  guibt  t\n  to  it  Ij  mine  eve." — Psa.  xxxii,  8. 

Sa>  -  _^aS 


Only  a  woman,  faded  and  old, 
With  hair  of  gray  instead  of  gold  ; 
With  the  years  of  her  life  a  sum  all  told, 

And  finished  the  work  begun. 
Only  a  coffin,  with  flowers  dressed  ; 
Only  a  patient  face  at  rest, 
With  folded  hands  on  a  peaceful  breast, 

For  the  Lord  hath  said,  "  Well  done." 

Only  a  grave,  in  a  churchyard  cold, 

With  the  pale  moon  shining  in  beams  of  gold, 

For  the  Lord  hath  gathered  safe  into  fold 

His  child, — all  labor  past. 
Over  the  river,  where  angels  dwell, 
Where  songs  of  praises  raise  and  swell, 
Where  Christ  is  King,  and  all  is  well, 
She  met  her  Lord  at  last. 


Suffering  and  Joy. 


ijgHAT  though  we  suffer  while  we  stay, 
-   'Tis  but  the  anguish  of  a  day  ; 
At  most,  our  life  is  but  a  span  ; 
A  "  hand's-breadth  "  are  the  days  of  man. 
What  if  those  days  we  "sow  in  tears," 
And  our  hearts  heave  with  racking  fears, 
Despairing  thought  and  cank'ring  care 
Their  impress  on  our  spirit  bear, 
We'll  hope,  and  faint  not  in  the  race, 
But  pray  for  all-suffering  grace 
To  help  us  trust,  from  hour  to  hour, 
The  Saviour's  love  and  watchful  power, 
Ere  long,  our  earth-life  being  done, 
The  battle  fought,  the  victory  won, 
With  joy  we'll  lay  our  armor  down, 
And  at  his  feet  receive  the  crown. 


"(Cb-e  sufferings  of  tins  present  time  are  not  foortbn  to  be  tompnretr 
fottb  tbe  glarn  bbieb  sball  be  rebealeb  in  ns." — Rom.  viii,  18. 


JIM 


Sometimes. 


|t-HILDHOOD"S  dreams!  those  beautiful  dreams 
Echoes  of  long  ago  ; 
Voiceless  visitants,  trooping  in 
With  stately  step  and  slow : 
Heroes  and  lovers — the  grand  ideals 

Pictured  in  innocent  rhyme  ; 
Castles  so  grand  that  stood  in  the  land 
Of  sweet  and  charmed  "Sometime." 


Oh,  the  witching  air  of  that  land  so  fair ! 

E'en  the  veil  of  time  scarce  hides 
"Where  hope's  bright  wing  is  hovering, 

And  the  bliss  we  covet  bides. 
To  day  may  ring  with  tireless  hand 

Joy's  purest,  richest  chime  ; 
But,  oh,  we  long  for  a  grander  song 

In  the  realm  of  glad  "Sometime." 


1  ilrjoiring  in  bopc." 
— Rom.  xii.  12. 


<3>J§> 


154 


SOMETIMES. 


(2b  ^E) 


Who  that  has  lived,  and  loved,  and  fought 

The  battle  of  life  with  a  will, 
But  can  see  by  the  way  some  landmark  lay 

Where  hopes  lie  buried  still  ? 
With  a  sigh  and  a  tear  o'er  the  lowly  bier, 

We  hasten  on  to  the  shrine 
Where  every  soul  may  its  burden  roll, 

In  the  fairy  land  "Sometime." 

But  what  are  a  few  dark,  weary  days  ? 

What  matter  our  buried  joys  ? 
When  we  stand  at  last  on  the  verge  of  time 

They  will  seem  like  useless  toys  : 
For  hope  still  beckons  and  points  beyond 

To  a  glorious,  golden  clime ; 
Listening  and  longing,  we  seem  to  hear 

The  sweet  refrain  "Sometime." 


■ARTHUR'S  MAGAZINE. 


"Ifafrr  i\t  (Soir  of  Jjope  fill  jiou  frittl)  al 
tfmt  ju  mag  abomta  in  jjope.' 


joo  ana  peace  in  belubtng, 
— Rom.  xv,  13. 


Tell  Me,  Ye  Winged  Winds. 


Where  mortals  weep  no  more  ? 
Some  lone  and  pleasant  dell, 

Some  valley  in  the  west, 
Where,  free  from  toil  and  pain, 
The  weary  soul  may  rest  ? 
The  loud  wind  dwindled  to  a  whisper  low, 
And  sighed  for  pity  as  it  answered, — "No." 

Tell  me,  thou  mighty  deep, 

Whose  billows  round  me  play, 
Know'st  thou  some  favored  spot, 

Some  island  far  away, 
Where  weary  man  may  find 

The  bliss  for  which  he  sighs, — 
Where  sorrow  never  lives, 
And  friendship  never  dies  ? 
The  loud  waves,  rolling  in  perpetual  flow, 
Stopped  for  a  while,  and  sighed  to  answer, — "No." 


"|ttan  tbat  is  born  of  h  ujomau  is  of  fefo  bitns,  ano  full  of  troubU." 
— Job  xiv,  i. 


And  thou,  serenest  moon, 

That,  with  such  lovely  face, 
Dost  look  upon  the  earth, 

Asleep  in  night's  embrace ; 
Tell  me,  in  all  thy  round 

Hast  thou  not  seen  some  spot 
Where  miserable  man 

May  find  a  happier  lot  ? 
Behind  a  cloud  the  moon  withdrew  in  woe, 
And  a  voice,  sweet  but  sad,  responded, — "No." 

Tell  me,  my  secret  soul, 

O,  tell  me,  Hope  and  Faith, 
Is  there  no  resting-place 

From  sorrow,  sin,  and  death  ? 
Is  there  no  happy  spot 

Where  mortals  may  be  blessed, 
Where  grief  may  find  a  balm, 
And  weariness  a  rest  ? 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Love,  best  boons  to  mortals  given, 
Waved  their  bright  wings,  and  whispered, — "Yes,  in  heaven!" 
\ 

— CHARLES  MACKAY. 


u$zt  matt  is  bora  unto  trouble,  as  fyz  sparks  fin  upfoarir. 
—Job  v,  7. 


'Sh 


The  Two  Sunsets. 


*0  bird-song  floated  down  the  hill, 
The  tangled  bank  below  was  still ; 

No  rustle  from  the  birchen  stem, 
No  ripple  from  the  water's  hem. 

The  dusk  of  twilight  round  us  grew 
We  felt  the  falling  of  the  dew  ; 

For,  from  ns,  ere  the  day  was  done, 
The  wooded  hills  shut  out  the  sun.  ' 

But  on  the  river's  farther  side, 
We  saw  the  hill-tops  glorified  : 


He  aunornteb  i\t  moon  for  seasons  :  i\z  sutt  Knofoetlj  Ins  going 

irofon." — Psa.  civ,  10.  Jf 

 !  


160 


THE  TWO  SUNSETS. 


A  tender  glow,  exceeding  fair, 
A  dream  of  day  without  its  glare. 

With  us  the  damp,  the  chill,  the  gloom ; 
With  them  the  sunset's  rosy  bloom ; 


While  dark,  through  willowy  vistas  seen, 
The  river  rolled  in  shade  between. 

From  out  the  darkness,  where  we  trod, 
We  gazed  upon  those  hills  of  God, 


"|Srtt  unto  gou  ijjat  f*ar  mg  name  shall  11^  &vlvl  of  rigbtioustuss 
arise  fcoitb  paling  in  Ins  fcotngs." — Mai.  iv,  2. 


THE  TWO  SUNSETS. 


Whose  light  seemed  not  of  moon  or  sun  ; 
We  spake  not,  but  our  thought  was  one. 

We  paused,  as  if  from  that  bright  shore 
Beckoned  our  dear  ones  gone  before  ; 

And  stilled  our  beating  hearts  to  hear 
The  voices  lost  to  mortal  ear ! 

Sudden  our  pathway  turned  from  night ; 
The  hills  swung  open  to  the  light ; 

Thro'  their  green  gates  the  sunshine  showed 
A  long,  slant  splendor  downward  flowed. 

Down  glade,  and  glen,  and  bank  it  rolled ; 
It  bridged  the  shaded  stream  with  gold, 

And,  borne  on  piers  of  mist,  allied 
The  shadowy  with  the  sunlit  side ! 

"So,"  prayed  we,  "when  our  feet  draw  near 
The  river,  dark  with  mortal  fear, 

And  the  night  cometh,  chill  with  dew, 
O  Father !  let  Thy  light  break  through ! 


161 


"§lut  it  sjjall  taim  to  pass,  t^at  at  ebcruttg  tirnt  it  sl^all  be  Hgbt." 
— Zech.  xiv,  7. 


So  let  the  hills  of  doubt  divide, 

So  bridge  with  faith  the  sunless  tide ! 

So  let  the  eyes  that  fail  on  earth 
On  Thy  eternal  hills  look  forth  ; 

And,  in  Thy  beckoning  angels,  know 
The  dear  ones  whom  we  loved  below  ?  " 

— JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


Iff 


Unspoken  Prayer. 


OO  tired — too  worn  to  pray, 

I  can  but  fold  my  hands, 
Entreating  in  a  voiceless  way, 

Of  him  who  understands 
How  flesh  and  heart  succumb — 

How  will  sinks,  weary — weak, 

Dear  Lord,  my  languid  lips  are  dumb, 

See  what  I  cannot  speak. 
Just  as  the  wearied  child, 

Through  sobbing  pain  opprest, 
IDrops,  hushing  all  its  wailings  wild, 

Upon  its  mother's  breast — 

So  on  thy  bosom,  I 

Would  cast  my  speechless  prayer. 
Nor  doubt  that  thou  wilt  let  me  lie 

In  trustful  weakness  there, 
And  though  no  conscious  thought 

Before  me  rises  clear, 


u<^tt  us  lift  up  our  lurtrt  foitlj  our  banbs  unto  (Sob  in  %  j)£HD*ns." 
— Lam.  iii,  41. 


The  prayer  of  wordless  language  wrought, 

Thou  yet  will  deign  to  hear, 
For  when,  at  best  I  plead — 

What  so  my  spirit  saith — 
I  only  am  the  bruised  reed, 

And  thou  the  breathing  breath, 

— MARGARET  J.  PRESTON. 


/  Would  Have  Gone. 


WOULD  have  gone,  God  bade  me  stay, 
I  would  have  worked,  God  bade  me  rest ; 
He  broke  my  will  from  day  to  day ; 
He  read  my  yearnings  unexpressed, 
And  said  them  nay. 

Now  I  would  stay,  God  bids  me  go, 
Now  I  would  rest,  God  bids  me  work  ; 
He  breaks  my  heart,  tossed  too  and  fro  ; 
My  soul  is  w  rung  with  doubts  that  lurk 
And  vex  it  so. 


I  go,  Lord,  where  Thou  sendest  me ! 
Day  after  day,  I  plod  and  moil, 
But  Christ,  my  Lord,  when  will  it  be 
That  I  may  let  alone  my  toil, 
And  rest  with  Thee  ? 


failing  mabe  knofott  unto  us  tjje  musterjr  of  Iris  bill,  attorbtng  ta 
|)is  gooc  pleasure." — Eph.  i,  9. 


^Vp  HIS  is  the  room  where  she  slept, 
Only  a  year  ago — 
Quiet,  and  carefully  swept, 
Blinds  and  curtains  like  snow. 
There  by  the  bed  in  the  dusty  gloom, 

She  would  kneel  with  her  tiny  clasped  hands  and  pray; 
Here  is  the  little  white  rose  of  a  room, 
With  the  fragrance  fled  away ! 


Nelly,  grandfather's  pet, 

With  her  wise  little  face — 
I  seem  to  hear  her  yet 
Singing  about  the  place  ; 
But  the  crowds  roll  on,  and  the  streets  are  drear, 
And  the  world' seems  hard  with  a  bitter  doom, 
And  Nelly  is  singing  elsewhere — and  here 
Is  the  little  white  rose  of  a  room. 


"|Um.emb*r  nob  t^g  Creator  in  i\t  bans  of  tbn  noutj)," 
— Eccl.  xii.  i. 


grandfather's  pet. 


Why,  if  she  stood  just  there, 

As  she  used  to  do, 
With  her  long  light  yellow  hair, 

And  her  eyes  of  blue — 


If  she  stood,  I  say,  at  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
And  ran  to  my  side  with  a  living  touch, 

Though  I  know  she  is  quiet  and  buried  and  dead, 
I  should  not  wonder  much  ; 


p 

r  168 


GRANDFATHER  S  PET. 


For  she  was  so  young,  you  know — 

Only  seven  years  old, 
And  she  loved  me,  loved  me  so, 
Though  I  was  gray  and  old ; 
And  her  face  was  so  wise,  and  so  sweet  to  see, 
And  it  still  looked  living,  when  she  lay  dead, 
As  she  used  to  plead  for  mother  and  me 
By  the  side  of  that  very  bed ! 

I  wonder,  now,  if  she 

Knows  I  am  standing  here, 
Feeling  wherever  she  be, 
We  hold  the  place  so  dear  ? 
It  cannot  be  that  she  sleeps  too  sound, 
Still  in  her  little  night-gown  dressed, 
Not  to  hear  my  footsteps  sound 
In  the  room  where  she  used  to  rest. 

I  have  felt  hard  fortune's  stings, 

And  battled  in  doubt  and  strife, 
And  never  thought  much  of  things 
Beyond  this  human  life ; 
But  I  cannot  think  that  my  darling  died 

Like  great,  strong  men,  with  their  prayers  untrue- 
Nay,  rather  she  sits  at  God's  own  side, 
And  sings  as  she  used  to  do ! 


it 


ft 


$3bujj  bope  foe  babe  as  an  ancbor  of  tbe  soul,  botb  sure  anb  stebfast, 
anb  fe^icb  enteretb  into  tbat  foitbtn  t^£  beil." — Heb.  vi,  19. 


Sir 


If  and  If 


F  all  the  pity  and  love  untold 

Could  scatter  abroad  in  coins  of  gold, 

There  would  not  be,  on  the  whole  round  earth, 
One  hungry  heart,  nor  one  wretched  hearth. 

And,  oh,  if  the  kind  words  never  said 

Could  bloom  into  flowers,  and  spread  and  shed 

Their  sweetness  out  on  the  common  air, 
The  breath  of  heaven  would  be  everywhere ! 

— MARY  AINGE  DE  VERE. 


"§uxir  ibjs  commandment  j)abe  me  from  Inm 

lobe      brother  also." — i  John  iv 


ftjrat  \z  kofyo  lobetb^  &oi> 


And  the  bird,  whose  song  is  free 
And  the  many- whispering  tree  : 
Oh!  too  deep  a  love,  and  fain, 
They  would  win  to  earth  again. 

Spread  them  not  before  the  eyes 
Closing  fast  on  summer  skies ! 
Woo  thou  not  the  spirit  back 
From  its  lone  and  viewless  track, 
With  the  bright  things  which  have  birth 
Wide  o'er  all  the  colored  earth ! 

With  the  Violet's  breath  would  rise 
Thoughts  too  sad  for  her  who  dies ; 
From  the  Lily's  pearl-cup  shed, 
Dreams  too  sweet  would  haunt  her  bed ; 
Dreams  of  youth — of  spring-time  eves — 
Music — beauty — all  she  leaves ! 

Hush!  'tis  thou  that  dreaming  art, 
Calmer  is  her  gentle  heart. 
Yes !  o'er  fountain,  vale,  and  grove, 
Leaf  and  flower,  hath  gushed  her  love ; 
But  that  passion,  deep  and  true, 
Knows  not  of  a  last  adieu. 


"$  bill  botb  lag  me  trofcott  in  peace,  anb  sleep. 
— Psa.  iv,  8. 


Types  of  lovelier  forms  than  these, 
In  their  fragile  mould  she  sees ; 
Shadows  of  yet  richer  things, 
Born  beside  immortal  springs, 
Into  fuller  glory  wrought, 
Kindled  by  surpassing  thought. 

Therefore  in  the  Lily's  leaf 
She  can  read  no  word  of  grief ; 
O'er  the  Woodbine  she  can  dwell, 
Murmuring  not — Farewell !  farewell ! 
And  her  dim,  yet  speaking  eye, 
Greets  the  Violet  solemnly. 

Therefore,  once,  and  yet  again, 
Strew  them  o'er  her  bed  of  pain  : 
From  her  chamber  take  the  gloom, 
With  a  light  and  flush  of  bloom  : 
So  should  one  depart,  who  goes 
Where  no  death  can  touch  the  Rose. 


My  Prayer. 


IVE  me  a  song,  and  I  will  sing  it ! 
Give  me  an  offering,  I  will  bring  it ! 
Give  me  Thyself,  and  I  will  take  Thee ! 
Withdraw  Thyself,  and  I  forsake  Thee ! 
My  land  lies  fallow  :  Master,  till  me ! 
My  henrt  lies  empty  :  Master,  fill  me! 
It  plays  the  traitor  :  Master,  win  me! 
It  faints!  it  dies!    Put  new  life  in  me! 
It  goes  astray  :  good  Shepherd,  lead  me ! 
It  sighs  for  hunger  :  come  and  feed  me ! 
It  is  so  poor!    Give  riches  to  me! 
It  is  corrupt :  O  Lord,  renew  me! 
So  ignorant !    Oh !  wilt  Thou  teach  me  ? 
Has  wandered  far !    But  Thou  can'st  reach  me 
Is  sore  diseased  :  Physician,  heal  me ! 
Exposed  to  danger  :  oh,  conceal  me ! 
It  trembles !    In  Thine  arms,  oh,  fold  me ! 
Begins  to  sink !    O  Saviour,  hold  me ! 


"§f  de  abic*  in  me,  ana  mtr  foorbs  abibe  itt  van,  ju  shall  ask  fobat 
ge  mill,  anb  it  sbjjll  be  boat  unto  gou." — John  xv,  7. 


^55 


Is  sinking  fast !    Lord,  look  upon  me ! 

So  cold  and  dark !    Oh,  shine  upon  me ! 

A  poor,  lost  sinner !    Come  and  find  me ! 

A  rebel !    May  Thy  love  now  bind  me ! 

A  prodigal !    Wilt  Thou  receive  me  ? 

A  beggar !    Oh !  wilt  Thou  relieve  me  ? 

A  backslider !    Wilt  Thou  restore  me  ? 

Unholy!    May  Thy  presence  awe  me! 

Unfit  to  die !    O  God,  prepare  me ! 

So  weak !    On  eagles'  wings,  oh,  bear  me ! 

So  comfortless !    Lord  Jesus,  cheer  me ! 

So  lonely!    God  of  love,  draw  near  me! 

By  sin  accused!    Good  Lord,  acquit  me! 

Unfit  for  Heaven's  pure  service !    Fit  me ! 

Unfit  for  work  on  earth !    But  use  me ! 

A  suppliant !    Do  not  Thou  refuse  me ! 

Oh !  come  and  fill  the  hungry  with  good  things, 

For  Thou  hast  all  I  need,  Thou  King  of  kings ! 


"$}e  I^atjj  filler  tjj*  bwngrg  foitlj  tjcrotr  things." 
-Luke  i,  53. 


The  Buried  Flower. 


N  the  silence  of  my  chamber, 

When  the  night  is  still  and  deep, 
And  the  drowsy  heave  of  ocean 
Mutters  in  its  charmed  sleep, 


Oft  I  hear  the  angel  voices 

That  have  thrilled  me  long  ago, — 

Voices  of  my  lost  companions, 
Lying  deep  beneath  the  snow. 

Where  are  now  the  flowers  we  tended  ? 

Withered,  broken,  branch  and  stem  ; 
Where  are  now  the  hopes  we  cherished  ? 

Scattered  to  the  winds  with  them. 


§inb,  beljolc,  angels  tame  anb  mtiustmb  unto  {mn. 
— Matt,  iv,  n. 


J 


1? 


... 


THE  BURIED  FLOWER.  179 


For  ye,  too,  were  flowers,  ye  dear  ones ! 

Nursed  in  hope  and  reared  in  love, 
Looking  fondly  ever  upward 

To  the  clear  blue  heaven  above  ; 

Smiling  on  the  sun  that  cheered  us, 
Rising  lightly  from  the  rain, 

Never  folding  up  your  freshness 
Save  to  give  it  forth  again. 

*  *  *  *  * 
O,  't  is  sad  to  lie  and  reckon 

All  the  days  of  faded  youth, 
All  the  vows  that  we  believed  in, 
All  the  words  we  spoke  in  truth. 

Severed, — were  it  severed  only 
By  an  idle  thought  of  strife, 

Such  as  time  may  knit  together ; 
Not  the  broken  chord  of  life ! 

*  *  *  *  * 
O,  I  fling  my  spirit  backward, 

And  I  pass  o'er  years  of  pain ; 
All  I  loved  is  rising  round  me, 
All  the  lost  returns  a^ain. 


180  THE  BURIED  FLOWER. 


> 


Brighter,  fairer  far  than  living, 
With  no  trace  of  woe  or  pain, 

Robed  in  everlasting  beauty, 
Shall  I  see  thee  once  again, 

By  the  light  that  never  fadeth, 
Underneath  eternal  skies, 

When  the  dawn  of  resurrection 
Breaks  o'er  deathless  Paradise. 


— WILLIAM  EDMONSTOWNE  AYTOUNE. 


Prayer. 


"Y  God!  is  any  hour  so  sweet, 

From  blush  of  morn  to  evening  star, 
As  that  which  calls  me  to  Thy  feet — 
The  hour  of  prayer. 

Blest  is  that  tranquil  hour  of  morn, 
And  blest  that  hour  of  solemn  eve, 

When  on  the  wings  of  prayer  upborne, 
The  world  I  leave ! 

For  then  a  dayspring  shines  on  me, 
Brighter  than  moon's  ethereal  glow, 

And  richer  dews  descend  from  Thee 
Than  earth  can  know. 


— CHARLOTTE  ELLIOTT. 


"J  dull  tjnm  forth  tbe  spirit,  anb  $  foill  prair  foitlj  i\t  unberstanbtncj 
also."    I  Cor.  xiv,  15. 


Babes  Always." 


IS  late — in  my  lone  chamber, 

Borne  through  the  echoing  hall, 
I  hear  the  wind's  hoarse  sobbing, 

The  rain-drops'  plashing  fall ; 
And  the  street-lamp,  on  the  ceiling 

Throws  many  a  weird-like  form- 
Tree-shadows,  dancing  wildly 

To  the  music  of  the  storm. 

Called  I  my  vigil  lonely  ? 

The  door  is  still  and  fast : 
O'er  threshold  and  o'er  carpet 

No  mortal  foot  has  passed 
No  rustle  of  white  raiment 

Or  warm  breath  stirs  the  air  ; 
Yet  I  speak  aloud  my  greeting — 

"My  darlings !  are  you  there ? " 


|8e  not  forgetful  to  entertain:  strangers;  for  fberebn  some  I^aoe 

entertinneb  angels  unafrmres." — Heb.  xiii,  2. 
 i( 


r 


BABES  ALWAYS." 


183 


Not  the  two  who,  by  me  kneeling, 
Said,  "Our  Father,"  hours  ago  ; 


Whose  cheeks  now  dent  their  pillows- 
Live  roses  upon  snow. 


"(Extent  ge  be  tcmbcrteo,  ana  become  as  little  tjnlcren,  ju  sball  not  | 
enter  into  tbe  ktngoom  of  luaben." — Matt,  xviii,  3.  >* 

Bav  .  .  «J 


184 


(C 


BABES  ALWAYS. 


They  dream  not  of  the  graveyard 

And  of  the  hillocks  twain, 
Snow-heaped  to-night  (Lord  help  me!) 

And  dripping  with  the  rain ! 

Twelve  years ! — a  manly  stripling, 

Our  boyy  by  this  had  grown ! 
Is  it  four  years,  or  twenty, 

Since  I  kissed  the  eyelids  down 
Of  her  whose  baby-sweetness 

"Was  a  later  gift  from  God, 
And  straightened  in  the  coffin 

Wee  feet  that  never  trod  ? 

These  are  not  strangers'  glances 

That  eagerly  seek  mine  ; 
I  know  the  loving  straining 

Of  the  arms  that  round  me  twine. 
Thou  hast  kept  them  babes,  O  Father  ! 

Who,  not  'mid  Heaven's  bowers, 
Learning  the  speech  of  angels, 

Forget  this  home  of  ours  ; 

Or  her,  who  braved  Death's  anguish 

To  win  them  to  her  breast, 
If  they  fled  into  the  sunshine — 

Free  birds  from  narrow  nest — 


4 'Sake  Ijeeb  fJ)Ht  ju  besntse  not  one  of  tbese  little  ones." 


— Matt,  xviii,  10. 


•Of'® 


r 


"  BABES  ALWAYS." 


187 


They  come  to  me  when  longing 
And  pain  are  at  their  height, 

To  tell  me  of  the  safety, 
The  love  and  the  delight 


Of  that  eternal  dwelling, 

(With  our  name  upon  the  door !) 
The  ring  of  baby-voices 

Shall  gladden  evermore ; 


"buffer  little  cbilbren  to  come  unto  me,  nnb  forbib  tl^em  not:  for  of 
nntl)  is  i\t  ktngbom  of  (Sob." — Luke  xviii,  16. 


Till,  'neath  their  tender  soothing, 
I  lift  my  heart  and  smile, 

And  gather  faith  and  courage 
To  bide  my  "little  while." 


"|Uit{)*r  tan  t\iv  bie  ang  more:  for  tjjetr  are  equal  unto  tju  angels.' 
— Luke  xx,  36. 


0. 


ft 


HANK  God,  that  in  life's  little  day, 

Between  our  dawn  and  setting, 
We  have  kind  deeds  to  give  away ; 
Sad  hearts  for  which  our  own  may  pray, 
And  strength,  when  we  are  wronged,  to  stay, 
Forgiving  and  forgetting. 

***** 

We  are  all  travelers,  who  throng 

A  thorny  road  together  ; 
And  if  some  pilgrim  not  so  strong 
As  I,  but  foot-sore,  does  me  wrong, 
I'll  make  excuse— the  road  is  long, 

And  stormy  is  the  weather. 

What  comfort  will  it  yield  the  day 
Whose  light  shall  find  us  dying, 

To  know  that  once  we  had  our  way, 

Against  a  child  of  weaker  clay, 

And  bought  our  triumph  in  the  fray 
With  purchase  of  his  sighing. 


A<  >K  — Luke  vi>  37-  Av/ta 


11  J^njibc,  anir  ju  s^all  he  fonjtbtn." 


9±-  - 


"V" 


It 


The  Glorified. 


^  WHERE  are  they,  the  saintly, 
That  oft  with  me  have  trod, 
With  each  returning  Sabbath, 

The  holy  courts  of  God  ? 
With  whom  I  took  sweet  counsel, 
When  with  one  heart  we  came 
To  worship  at  his  altars, 
And  speak  the  sacred  name. 

With  these  still,  peaceful  moments 

Fond  memories  oft  come  back 
Of  faces  that  once  gladdened 
Life's  all  too  shaded  track  ; 
Again  I  hear  their  voices  ; 

Once  more  I  catch  their  smile ; 
I  greet  them  in  the  vision 
And  clasp  them  as  erewhile ! 


"£bat  %z  be  not  slothful,  but  followers  of  tbem  robo  tbrongb  faith; 
antr  patience  inherit  tbe  promises." — Heb.  vi,  12. 


0s  1?> 


THE  GLORIFIED. 


Ah !  they  are  with  the  blessed, 

Earth's  weary  travails  past ; 
And  where  they  need  no  temple, 

Exulting  serve  at  last ; 
To  do  God's  will  they  cease  not, 

Yet  evermore  they  rest ; 
All  tireless  as  the  angels, 

They  evermore  are  blest. 

Robed  in  its  summer  glories 

This  earth  to-day  is  fair, 
But  one  eternal  beauty 

Blooms  ever  faultless  there  ; 
Here  mortal  vigor  faileth, 

Is  lo=t  in  quick  decay ; 
There  life's  full  fount  o'erfloweth 

And  Wasteth  not  away. 

Oft,  oft  my  spirit  yearneth 

To  reach  that  goodly  land ; 
To  join  the  grand  assembly, 

God's  own  immortal  band ; 
To  see  in  clear,  full  vision, 

Him  whom  I  love  unseen, 
Yet  must  I  wait ;  unparted 

Hangs  the  dark  veil  between. 


b  presence  s{mll  go  foxtb  %e,  anfr  $  foill  gibe  t\tt  rest, 
— Exod.  xxxiii,  14. 


O  welcome  the  glad  rising 

Of  that  bright,  blissful  morn, 
When,  life's  long  toils  all  ended, 

Its  latest  evening  gone, 
Thou,  Lord,  the  veil  dividing, 

Shalt  bid  me  come  to  thee ; 
And  I,  with  all  thy  ransomed, 

Shall  serve  eternally! 

But  till  that  summons  cometh — 

The  years  will  not  be  long — 
What  ills  soe'er  befall  me, 

All  patient,  faithful,  strong,  ■ 
Let  me  in  love  still  serving, 

Without  one  lingering  fear, 
Tread  on  my  way  unshrinking, 

Till  thy  kind  voice  I  hear. 

O  blessed,  blessed  meeting, 

With  those  who  in  thee  died ! 
With  faithful  saints  and  martyrs 

Who  for  thee  death  defied ! 
Methinks  when  their  full  chorus, 

That  mighty  host  shall  raise, 
Each  farthest  star  shall  echo, 

The  hymns  of  rapturous  praise ! 

— RAY  PALMER,  D.  D. 


"  <Jfor  noto  foe  see  through  a  glass,  barkb;  bat  t\nn  face  to  tut." 
^  — I  Cor.  xiii,  12. 


Only. 


NLY  a  mortal's  powers, 

Weak  at  their  fullest  strength; 
Only  a  few  swift-flashing  hours, 
Short  at  their  fullest  length. 

Only  a  page  for  the  eye, 
Only  a  word  for  the  ear, 

Only  a  smile,  and  by  and  by 
Only  a  quiet  tear. 

Only  one  heart  to  give, 

Only  one  voice  to  use ; 
Only  one  little  life  to  live, 

And  only  one  to  lose. 

Poor  is  my  best,  and  small ; 

How  could  I  dare  divide  ? 
Surely  my  Lord  shall  have  it  all, 

He  shall  not  be  denied ! 


|leitber  rount  $  mu  life  btar  unto  mtmlf." 
— Acts  xx,  24. 


Sir 


194 


ONLY. 


All !  for  far  more  I  owe 

Than  all  I  have  to  bring ; 
All !  for  my  Saviour  loves  me  so ! 

All!  for  I  love  my  King! 

All !  for  it  is  His  own, 

He  gave  the  tiny  store  ; 
All!  for  it  must  be  His  alone ; 

All !  for  I  have  no  more. 

All !  for  the  last  and  least 

He  stoopeth  to  uplift : 
The  altar  of  my  great  High  Priest 

Shall  sanctify  my  gift. 

—  FRANCES  RIDLEY  HAYERGAL. 


'gttrj  soul  sjjall  make  hn  boast  in  fyt  <£orb.: 
— Psa.  xxxiv.  2. 


The  Shepherd's  Voice. 


«HEY  hear  His  voice! 

It  is  their  Shepherd's,  and  they  know  it  well. 

They  follow  Him, 
Where'er  He  leads,  Shepherd  of  Israel. 


A  stranger-voice 
They  know  not,  love  not,  follow  not,  but  flee. 

One  voice  alone 
Attracts  ;  'tis  His  who  said,  "Come  unto  me." 


He  knows  His  sheep, 
He  counts  them,  and  He  calleth  them  by  name, 

He  goes  before ; 
They  follow  as  He  leads,  through  flood  or  flame. 


"IHU  sjmp  J)m  van  bout,  anb  1  knob  %m,  anb  i\t%  follofo  mt." 
— John  x,  27. 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  VOICE. 


He  leads  them  out, 
Into  the  pastures  green,  by  waters  still, 

He  leads  them  in  ; 
And  guards  them  safe  within  the  fold  from  ill. 


O  wise  and  good, 
O  strong  and  loving  One,  mighty  to  save ; 

Thine  own  Thou  wilt 
Still  keep  and  bring  them  up  from  the  deep  grave. 


No  want  is  theirs  ; 
Thy  fulness  at  their  side  doth  ever  stand ; 

No  peril  theirs, 
For  none  can  ever  pluck  them  from  Thy  hand. 


And  when  this  day 
Of  storm  and  scattering  is  ended  here, 

Thou  wilt  bring  them 
To  greener  pastures  and  to  streams  more  clear. 


Amen,  amen! 
Good  Shepherd,  hasten  Thou  that  glorious  day, 

When  we  shall  all 
In  the  one  fold  abide  with  Thee  for  aye. 


gtnb-  |  gtbe  unto  tbem  eternal  life ;  ana  then  slrall  tuber  perisb;, 
neither  sh^all  anti  man  pluck  tlnm  out  of  inn  Iranb." — John  x,  28.  A, 

V<S\\  I  _J(^L 


r  THE  shepherd's  voice.  199  1 


Then  in  the  midst 
And  we  delivered  from  all  fear  and  sin ! 

No  hunger  more, 
No  thirst,  nor  heat,  upon  these  hills  of  green. 

O  Lamb  of  God, 
True  Shepherd  and  true  Lamb,  Thou  both  in  one ; 

Us  lead,  us  feed, 
Till  all  our  wandering's  done,  we  reach  the  throne. 

— H.  BONAR,  D.  D. 


"|§e  gattj)  unto  bun,  J^etr  mn  lambs.' 
— John  xxi,  15. 


Sir 


isMe) 


5& 


T/ze  Vaudois  Missionary. 


j/fj^  LADY  fair,  these  silks  of  mine 
Are  beautiful  and  rare — 
The  richest  web  of  the  Indian  loom, 

Which  beauty's  self  might  wear. 
And  these  pearls  are  pure  and  mild  to  beholds 

As  with  radiant  light  they  vie  ; 
I  have  brought  them  with  me  a  weary  way : 
Will  my  gentle  lady  buy  ?  " 


I      "!  ronnsel  tb«  to  bug  °f  mt  golo  trub  in  t\i  firt,  tbat  fycxa  manest 
be  ricby — Rev.  hi,  18. 


1 


t 


THE  VAUDOIS  MISSIONARY. 


20!  ^ 


The  lady  smiled  on  the  worn  old  man, 

Through  the  dark  and  clustering  curls 
Which  veiled  her  brow,  as  she  bent  to  view 

His  silk  and  glittering  pearls  : 
She  placed  their  price  in  the  old  man's  hand, 

And  lightly  turned  away ; 
But  she  paused  at  the  wanderer's  earnest  call — 

"My  gentle  lady,  stay!" 

"  Oh  lady  fair,  I  have  yet  a  gem 

Which  a  purer  lustre  flings 
Than  the  diamond  flash  of  the  jewelled  crown 

On  the  lofty  brow  of  kings  : 
A  wonderful  pearl  of  exceeding  price, 

Whose  virtue  shall  not  decay  ; 
Whose  light  shall  be  as  a  spell  to  thee, 

And  a  blessing  on  thy  way!" 

The  lady  glanced  at  the  mirroring  steel, 

Where  her  youthful  form  was  seen, 
Where  her  eyes  shone  clear,  and  her  dark  locks  waved 

Their  clasping  pearls  between  ; 
"  Bring  forth  thy  pearl  of  exceeding  worth, 

Thou  traveler  gray  and  old, 
Name  but  the  price  of  thy  precious  gem, 

And  my  pages  shall  count  thy  gold." 


jab  fottnb  ant  pearl  of  great  price,  fcoent  anb  nolo  all 
)t  I)ab,  anb  bought  it." — Matt,  xiii,  46. 
1_  


202 


THE  VAUDOIS  MISSIONARY. 


The  cloud  went  off  from  the  pilgrim's  brow, 

As  a  small  and  meagre  book, 
Unchased  with  gold  or  diamond  gem, 

From  his  folding  robe  he  took  : 
"Here,  lady  fair,  is  the  pearl  of  price — 

May  it  prove  as  such  to  thee ! 
Nay,  keep  thy  gold — I  ask  it  not — 

For  the  word  of  God  is  free." 

The  hoary  traveler  went  his  way, 

But  the  gift  he  left  behind 
Hath  had  its  pure  and  perfect  work 

On  that  high-born  maiden's  mind ; 
And  she  hath  turned  from  her  pride  of  sin 

To  the  lowliness  of  truth, 
And  given  her  human  heart  to  God 

In  its  beautiful  hour  of  youth. 

And  she  hath  left  the  old  gray  walls 

Where  an  evil  faith  hath  power, 
The  courtly  knights  of  her  father's  train, 

And  the  maidens  of  her  bower ; 
And  she  hath  gone  to  the  Vaudois  vale, 

By  lordly  feet  untrod, 
Where  the  poor  and  needy  of  earth  are  rich 

In  the  perfect  love  of  God ! 


<($t%,  taint,  bun  fatne  sub  milk  fa  it  £  out  mo  tug  anb  fallout  gnu." 


Out  of  the  Deeps, 


Y  the  wild  billows  overwhelmed, 
Tossed  on  the  stormy  wave, 
Thou  who  dost  know  when  sparrows  fall, 
Stretch  forth  thine  arm  to  save. 

Against  my  unprotected  face 

Is  dashed  the  bitter  spray  ; 
The  slender  spar  my  hands  had  grasped, 

The  storm-tides  wrench  away. 

Mine  eyes  across  the  watery  waste 
Have  strained  for  sight  of  land ; 

But  there  is  never  shore  nor  sail, 
Nor  hope  of  helping  hand. 


JUb  not  fibt  sgarrofos  solb  for  tfoo  farmings,  ana  not  one  of  t\zm 
is  forqottfn  bitaxz  (Sob  ? " — Luke  xii,  6. 


Strange  birds  swoop  'neath  the  leaden  sky, 

And  circle  round  my  head, 
Waiting  impatiently  till  I 

(Ah,  ghastly  thought !)  am  dead. 

The  cruel  rocks  rise  just  ahead — 

My  strength  is  nearly  gone  ; 
One  of  us,  grim  old  Death,  must  lose 

This  fight  before  the  dawn. 

How  dear  hath  grown  this  slighted  life! 

From  gates  of  Paradise, 
Already  opening,  to  Earth, 

I  turn  with  yearning  cries. 

The  terrors  of  the  night  approach : 

Too  weak  to  longer  strive, 
Ago  in  to  Thee  my  prayers  I  breathe : 

Sweet  Saviour,  let  me  live ! 

—  LULU  M.  w. 


Lead,  Kindly  Light 


EAD  kindly  Light !  amid  the  encircling  gloom, 
Lead  thou  me  on  ; 
The  night  is  dark,  and  I  am  far  from  home, 

Lead  thou  me  on  ; 
Keep  thou  my  feet ;  I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  scene  ;  one  step  enough  to  me. 

I  was  not  ever  thus,  nor  prayed  that  thou 

Should' st  lead  me  on  ; 
I  loved  to  choose  and  see  my  path ;  but  now 

Lead  thou  me  on  ; 
I  loved  the  garish  day,  and  spite  of  fears, 
Pride  ruled  my  will.    Remember  not  past  years. 

So  long  thy  power  has  blessed  me,  sure  it  still 

Will  lead  me  on 
O'er  moor  and  fen,  o'er  crag  and  torrent,  till 

The  night  is  gone  ; 
And  with  the  morn  those  angel  faces  smile 
Which  I  have  long  since,  and  lost  awhile. 


— NEWMAN. 


"(frbat  fcoas  tin  true  ITtgJjt,  fol^tclj  Iiejjjtetb  ebcrg  man  tlrai  cometlj  into 

iht  foorlb." — John  i,  o.  J 

(M\  :  iGM 


The  breath,  the  balm,  the  glow  you  fling, 
Like  dew-drops  from  some  bright  bird's  wing, 

Thrill  all  my  being,  as  I  list 

To  melodies  which  must  desist 
When  night- fall  hath  discrowned  me,  king 

At  dawn  of  day.  — john  morgan. 


tte  Fourth  Watch  of  the  Night. 


O,  in  the  moonless  night, 
In  the  rough  wind's  despite, 

They  ply  the  oar. 
Keen  gusts  smite  in  their  teeth  ; 
The  hoarse  winds  chafe  beneath 
With  muffled  roar. 

Numb  fingers,  failing  force, 
Scarce  serve  to  hold  the  course 

Hard- won  half-way, 
When  o'er  the  tossing  tide, 
Pallid  and  heavy-eyed, 

Scowls  the  dim  day. 


IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH  OF  THE  NIGHT. 


209 


And  now  in  the  wan  light, 
Walking  the  waters  white, 

A  shape  draws  near. 
Each  soul,  in  troubled  wise, 
Staring  with  starting  eyes, 

Cries  out  for  fear. 


Each  grasps  his  neighbor  tight, 
In  helpless  huddled  fright 

Shaken  and  swayed. 
And  lo !  the  Master  nigh 
Speaks  softly,  "It  is  I ; 

Be  not  afraid." 


E'en  so  to  us,  that  strain 
Over  life's  moaning  main, 

Thou  drawest  near, 
And,  knowing  not  thy  guise, 
We  gaze  with  troubled  eyes, 

And  cry  for  fear. 


A  strange  voice  whispers  low, 
"This  joy  must  thou  forego, 
Thy  first  and  best. " 


of  goob  z\ttt;  it  is  J;  be  not  afraio. 
— Matt,  xiv,  27. 


f  210 


IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH  OF  THE  NIGHT. 


A  shrouded  phantom  stands 
Crossing  the  best-loved  hands, 
For  church-yard  rest. 


Then,  soft  as  is  the  fall 
Of  that  white  gleaming  pall 

By  snowflakes  made, 
Stilling  each  startled  cry, 
Thou  speakest,  "It  is  I ; 

Be  not  afraid. " 

— "GOOD  WORDS." 


5c  not  afnrib,  onljr  belicfae. 
— Mark  v,  36. 


CMS. 


The  Sunlight. 


T  gently  brought  to  a  darkened  world 
The  tidings  of  coming  day, 
And  awakened  earth  with  a  loving  call 
To  straightway  arise  and  pray. 

It  tenderly  entered  where  death  had  been. 
And  shone  on  the  marble  brow, 

Softly  reminding  each  mourners  heart 
Of  "  the  crown  of  glory  now." 

It  paused  awhile  in  the  forest  glade, 
To  strengthen  a  lowly  flower, 

And  bid  it  show  in  its  own  sweet  way, 
God's  care  through  its  little  hour. 

And  thence  it  passed  to  a  widow's  home, 
To  illumine  with  gleams  of  gold 

The  sacred  words  of  a  promised  "rest," 
It  found  in  her  Bible  old. 


"Qtw,  sl^iite;  iax  tf)g  lig^t  is  came,  una  t\z  Qlorjr  of  x\z  %axa  is 
ris-en  upon;  t\n." — Isa.  lx,  i. 


3r» 


212 


THE  SUNLIGHT. 


It  lingered  long  by  a  dying  babe, 
Who  smiled  at  its  golden  ray, 

And  the  mother  gave  with  a  lighter  heart 
Her  child  to  the  Lord  that  day. 

It  made  its  way  to  a  gloomy  cell, 

Right  on  to  the  prison  floor, 
And  sang  of  life  in  a  brighter  world, 

Where  fetters  shall  be  no  more. 

Ah !  who  can  tell  all  the  sunlight  did, 
Through  that  glorious  summer  day, 

Or  how  the  earth  became  cold  and  dark 
When  the  last  streak  died  away  ? 

But  let  us  ask,  Do  we  also  shine 
With  glory  from  Christ  our  Sun,? 

Will  aught  we  do  in  the  world  for  him 
Be  missed  when  life  is  done  ? 


1% 


§5ui  i\t  $forb  s^all  bt  unto  i\it  an  ibcrlasting  ligjji,  anb  t|g  <2£oa  | 
tljg  glorj)." — Isa.  lx,  19.  * 


The  Death  of  the  Righteous. 


EHOLD  the  western  evening  light! 
It  melts  in  deepening  gloom  : 
So  calmly  Christians  sink  away, 
Descending  to  the  tomb. 

The  winds  breathe  low,  the  withering  leaf 

Scarce  whispers  from  the  tree  : 
So  gently  flows  the  parting  breath 
When  good  men  cease  to  be. 

How  beautiful  in  all  the  hills 
The  crimson  light  is  shed ! 
'Tis  like  the  peace  the  Christian  gives 
To  mourners  round  his  bed. 


'&\>zv  tbat  bfoell  in  tlqt  lanb  of  tlje  slmbofo  of  bea%  unon  fyzm  batlj 
t\z  ligbt  slnaeb." — Isa-  ™>  2- 


J: 
Iff 


216 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS. 


How  mildly  on  the  wandering  cloud 

The  sunset  beam  is  cast ! 
'Tis  like  the  memory  left  behind 

When  loved  ones  breathe  their  last. 

And  now  above  the  dews  of  night 

The  rising  star  appears  : 
So  faith  springs  in  the  heart  of  those 

Whose  eyes  are  bathed  in  tears. 

But  soon  the  morning's  happier  light 

Its  glory  shall  restore, 
And  eyelids  that  are  sealed  in  death 

Shall  wake  to  close  no  more. 


"ffifjjen  sIjhII  tl}2  Itgljt  break  fortlj  as  fyt  morning." 


— PEABODY. 


— Isa.  Iviii,  8. 


Rest 

HOU  for  Thyself  hast  made  us, 
O  holy  Lord ! 
And  by  Thy  grace  hast  stayed  us 
Upon  Thy  Word. 
Body,  and  soul,  and  spirit — all  these  are  only  Thine : 
All  bear  alike  the  impress  of  ownership  divine ; 

And  though  the  coin  shows  dimly — 

Because  of  rust — 
It  bears  Thy  superscription, 
And  ever  must. 

Our  hearts  can  know  no  resting, 

Except  in  Thee ; 
Our  barks  the  waves  are  breasting 
On  life's  rough  «ea  ; 
Body,  and  soul,  and  spirit,  are  daily  worn  with  care, 
The  "covert  of  Thy  wing"  is  sought — the  needed  rest  is  there: 
And  though  the  toil  cease  only 

When  Life  is  won  ; 
In  Thee  our  rest  remaineth, 
O  Christ,  the  Son. 


Passing. 


HAT  ship  is  this  comes  sailing 
Across  the  harbor  bar, 
So  strange,  yet  half  familiar 
With  treasure  from  afar  ? 
O  comrades,  shout ;  good  bells,  ring  out ; 
Peal  loud  your  merry  din ! 
O,  joy!    At  last  across  the  bay 
My  ship  comes  sailing  in ! " 

Men  said  in  low  whispers, 

"It  is  the  passing  bell ; 

At  last  his  toil  is  ended." 

They  prayed,  "  God  rest  him  well!" 

"Ho,  captain,  my  captain! 
What  store  have  you  on  board  ?  " 
"A  treasure  far  richer 
Than  gems  or  golden  hoard  ; 


1  38ut  lag  up  for  nourselbes  treasures  in  Jnaben." 
—Matt,  vi,  20. 


f 

PASSING. 

% 

219  > 

The  broken  promise  welded,  firm, 

The  long-forgotten  kiss  5 

HPhp  1  r\~\rf*  mnrp  worfln  tn^in  *n  1 1  nn  pirtn 

J.            1UVC   I11W1  C    WU1  111    llldll   clll   W 11   V_u,l  111, 

All  joys  life  seemed  to  miss." 

The  watchers  sighed  softly, 

"It  is  the  death  change, 

What  vision  blest  has  given 

That  rapture  deep  and  strange  ?  " 

V_/  CdULdlll,   LlCdl  CdlJLdlll, 

AA/  ni  i"  TAfmc  nrp   mncp  T  CPP 
VVlldl  Iwilllo  die  lllUoC  1  bCC 

On  ripple  tliprp  l^pQirlp  von  ? 

V_7 1 1  VJ.CL.1Y    L11C1  e    L/ColVIC    V  \J  11  : 

T'npv  crnilp  cinH  nppLron  mp 
x  iicy  oiiine  diivx  uc^ivwn  inc. 

And  soft  voices  call  me  

Those  voices  sure  I  know!" 

.rv.ii  nicuus  die  iici c  iiiciL  yuu  iiciu.  ciear 

In  the  sweet  long  ago. " 

"The  death  smile,"  they  murmured; 

"It  is  so  passing  sweet, 

We  scarce  have  heart  to  hide  it 

Beneath  the  winding-sheet." 

"0  captain,  I  know  you! 

Are  you  not  Christ  the  Lord  ? 

With  light  heart,  and  joyous, 

I  hasten  now  on  board. 

"guxfr,  Initio,  <Sob  Inmself  is  foitb  us  for  our  captain.' 
— 2  Chron.  xiii,  12. 


rill  lk®v  


Set  sail,  set  sail  before  the  gale, 
Our  trip  will  soon  be  o'er  : 
To-night  we'll  cast  our  anchor  fast 
Beside  the  heavenly  shore. " 

Men  sighed,  "  Lay  him  gently 

Beneath  the  heavy  sod. " 

The  soul  afar  beyond  the  bar 

Went  sailing  on  to  God. 

— ALICE  WILLIAMS  BROTHERTON. 


tat  w  passeb  from  beatlj  unto  life." 
— John  v,  24. 


(2b  vE) 


New  Year's  Wishes. 


//'HAT  shall  I  wish  thee? 
Treasures  of  earth  ? 
Songs  in  the  springtime, 

Pleasure  and  mirth  ? 
Flowers  on  thy  pathway, 

Skies  ever  clear  ? 
Would  this  ensure  thee 
A  Happy  New  Year  ? 

What  shall  I  wish  thee  ? 
What  can  be  found 
•  Bringing  thee  sunshine 
All  the  year  round  ? 
Where  is  the  treasure, 

Tasting  and  dear, 
That  shall  ensure  thee 
A  Happy  New  Year  ? 


Faith  that  increaseth, 

Walking  in  light ; 
Hope  that  aboundeth, 

Happy  and  bright ; 
Love  that  is  perfect, 

Casting  out  fear  ; 
These  shall  ensure  thee 

A  Happy  New  Year, 

Peace  in  the  Saviour, 

Rest  at  His  feet, 
Smile  of  His  countenance 

Radiant  and  sweet, 
Joy  in  His  presence ! 

Christ  ever  near ! 
This  will  ensure  thee 

A  Happy  New  Year ! 

— FRANCES  RIDLEV  HAVERGAL, 


Now  I  Lay  Me  Down  to  Sleep. 


OLDEN  head  so  lowly  bending, 
Little  feet  so  white  and  bare, 
Dewy  eyes,  half  shut,  half  opened, 
Lisping  out  her  evening  prayer. 

"Now  I  lay," — repeat  it,  darling- 
"  Lay  me,"  lisped  the  tiny  lips 

Of  my  daughter,  kneeling,  bending 
O'er  the  folded  finger  tips. 


\t  jjc  therefore  follohnrs  of  (gob, 
— Eph.  v,  i. 


as  b*ar  tjrilbun.' 


 dm 


J , 


"Down  to  sleep," — "To  sleep,"  she  murmured, 

And  the  curly  head  bent  low ; 
"I  pray  the  Lord,"  I  gently  added, 

"You  can  say  it  all,  I  know." 

"  Pray  the  Lord," — the  sound  came  faintly, 
Fainter  still — "My  soul  to  keep  ;" 

Then  the  tired  heart  fairly  nodded, 
And  the  child  was  fast  asleep. 


But  the  dewy  eyes  half  opened 
When  I  clasped  her  to  my  breast, 

And  the  dear  voice  softly  whispered, 
"Mamma,  God  knows  all  the  rest." 


Oh,  the  trusting,  sweet  confiding 
Of  the  child-heart !    Would  that  I 

Thus  might  trust  my  Heavenly  Father, 
He  who  hears  my  feeblest  cry. 


O,  the  rapture,  sweet,  unbroken, 
Of  the  soul  who  wrote  that  prayer ! 

Children's  myriad  voices  floating 
Up  to  Heaven,  record  it  there. 


NOW  I  LAY  ME  DOWN  TO  SLEEP. 


If,  of  all  that  has  been  written, 

I  could  choose  what  might  be  mine, 

It  should  be  that  child's  petition, 
Rising  to  the  throne  divine. 


/  Go  to  Life. 


GO  to  life  and  not  to  death ; 

From  darkness  to  life's  native  sky, 
I  go  from  sickness  and  from  pain 

To  health  and  immortality. 
Let  our  farewell  then  be  tearless, 

Since  I  bid  farewell  to  tears  ; 
Write  this  day  of  my  departure 

Festive  in  your  coming  years, 

I  go  from  poverty  to  wealth, 

From  rags  to  raiment  angel-fair, 
From  the  pale  leanness  of  this  flesh 

To  beauty  such  as  saints  shall  wear. 
Let  our  farewell  then  be  tearless, 

Since  I  bid  farewell  to  tears  ; 
Write  this  day  of  my  departure 

Festive  in  your  coming  years, 


"!  am  come  ilmt  i\tv  mtgjrt  \p.bt  l\h. 
— John  x,  io. 


r 


I  GO  TO  LIFE. 


227  W 


^1 


I  go  from  chains  to  liberty, 

These  fetters  will  be  broken  soon ; 
Forth  over  Eden's  fragrant  fields 

I  walk  beneath  a  glorious  noon 
Let  our  farewell  then  be  tearless, 

Since  I  bid  farewell  to  tears ; 
Write  this  day  of  my  departure 

Festive  in  your  coming  years. 

For  toil  there  comes  the  crowned  rest ; 

Instead  of  burdens,  eagle's  wings ; 
And  I,  even  I,  this  life-long  thirst 

Shall  quench  at  everlasting  springs. 
Let  our  farewell  then  be  tearless, 

Since  I  bid  farewell  to  tears ; 
Write  this  day  of  my  departure 

Festive  in  your  coming  years. 

God  lives !    Who  says  that  I  must  die  ? 

I  cannot,  while  Jehovah  liveth! 
Christ  lives !  I  cannot  die,  but  live ; 

He  life  to  me  for  ever  giveth. 
Let  our  farewell  then  be  tearless, 

Since  I  bid  farewell  to  tears ; 
Write  this  day  of  my  departure 

Festive  in  your  coming  years.     — h.  bonar,  d.  d. 


tl)£  gift  of  (Sob  is  tttxml  life  tbrougb  lesus  Christ  our  |'orb. 
— Rom.  vi,  23. 


Old  Age. 


rLING  down  the  faded  blossoms  of  the  spring, 
Nor  clasp  the  roses  with  regretful  hand ; 
The  joy  of  summer  is  a  vanished  thing  ; 

Let  it  depart,  and  learn  to  understand 
The  gladness  of  great  calm — the  autumn  rest, 
The  Peace — of  human  joys  the  latest  and  the  best. 


Ah!  I  remember  how  in  early  days 

The  primrose  and  the  wild-flower  grew  beside 
My  tangled  forest  paths,  whose  devious  ways 

Filled  me  with  joys  of  mysteries  untried, 
And  terror  that  was  more  than  half  delight, 
And  sense  of  budding  life,  and  longings  infinite. 

And  I  remember  how,  in  Life's  hot  noon, 
Around  my  path  the  lavish  roses  shed 


1 


u|park"tbe  perfect  man,  anb  bel^olb  i\t  upright:  for  t\z  enb  of  tljat 

man  is  peace." — Psa.  xxxvii,  37. 
}k  JC 


Color  and  fragrance,  and  the  air  of  June 

Breathed  rapture — now  those  summer  days  are  fled ; 

Days  of  sweet  peril,  when  the  serpent  lay 

Lurking  at  every  turn  of  life's  enchanted  way. 

The  light  of  spring,  the  summer's  glow  are  o'er, 

And  I  rejoice  in  knowing  that  for  me 
The  woodbine  and  the  roses  bloom  no  more, 

The  tender  green  is  gone  from  field  and  tree ; 
Brown  barren  sprays  stand  clear  against  the  blue., 
And  leaves  fall  fast,  and  let  the  truthful  sunlight  through. 

For  me  the  hooded  herbs  of  autumn  grow, 
Square-stemmed  and  sober  ;  mint  and  sage, 

Horehound  and  balm — such  plants  as  healers  know ; 
And  the  decline  of  life's  long  pilgrimage 

Is  soft  and  sweet  with  marjoram  and  thyme, 

Bright  with  pure  evening  dew,  not  serpents'  glittering  slime. 

And  around  my  path  the  aromatic  air 

Breathes  health  and  perfume,  and  the  turfy  ground 
Is  soft  for  weary  feet,  and  smooth  and  fair 

With  little  thomless  blossoms  that  abound 
In  safe  dry  places,  where  the  mountain  side 
Lies  to  the  setting  sun,  and  no  ill  beast  can  hide. 


<4®^eg  s^all  still  bring  fortlj  fruit  in  al'is  age;  tlutt  sjjall  be  fat  antr 


What  is  there  to  regret  ?  Why  should  I  mourn 
To  leave  the  forest  and  the  marsh  behind, 

Or  towards  the  rank,  low  meadows  sadly  turn  ? 
Since  here  another  loveliness  I  find, 

Safer  and  not  less  beautiful — and  blest 

With  glimpses,  faint  and  far,  of  the  long-wished-for  Rest. 

And  so  I  drop  the  roses  from  my  hand, 

And  let  the  thorn-pricks  heal,  and  take  my  way 

Down  hill,  across  a  fair  and  peaceful  land 
Lapt  in  the  golden  calm  of  dying  day — 

Glad  that  the  night  is  near,  and  glad  to  know 

That,  rough  or  smooth  the  way,  I  have  not  far  to  go. 


"  §1  goob  name  is  better  tban  precious  ointment;  anb  the  bag  of  beatfr 

Ibjjn  %  bag  of  one's  birtb." — Eccl.  vii,  i.  > 
w__  _4  (CM 


The  Guardian  Angel 


WANDERED  through  a  forest  lone, 
I  met  a  fair  young  child, 
"My  little  one,  art  not  afraid, 

The  wood  is  drear  and  wild  ?  " 
She  shook  her  sunny  waving  curls, 
And  looked  at  me  and  smiled. 


"  Nay,  but  I  am  not  all  alone," 
Still  reverent  answered  she, 

"An  angel  walketh  by  my  side, 
Though  him  I  can  not  see ; 

And  he  would  tell  of  it  in  heaven, 
If  ought  should  injure  me. 

"He's  ever  near,  and  tenderly 
A  loving  watch  doth  keep  ; 


|n  luatatt  Ijmr  angels  bo  alfoans  bcbolb  fyz  face  of  mn  Jfatber 
folutlj  is  in  I^eaben:." — Matt,  xviii,  10. 


234 


THE  GUARDIAN  ANGEL. 


And  with  his  great  white  downy  wings 

He  fanneth  me  to  sleep." 
"Nay,  child,  'tis  but  the  summer  wind 

That  through  the  trees  doth  creep." 


"  When  I  am  wearied  out  with  play, 

And  sit  me  down  to  rest, 
My  guardian  angel  lets  me  lie 

So  gently  on  his  breast. " 
"Nay,  child,  'tis  but  the  velvet  moss 
Thy  little  form  hath  pressed." 

"And  when  the  sunlight  quivers  fair 

Upon  each  leafy  spray, 
My  angel  on  his  golden  harp 

Sweet  tunes  for  me  doth  play. " 
"Nay,  through  the  woods  in  summer  time, 

The  wild  bees  hum  all  day. " 


"  Or  often  as  I  sit  and  watch 
The  wild  dove  on  the  wing, 

I  hear  my  angel's  silver  voice 
A  solemn  anthem  sing." 

"Nay,  child,  'tis  ocean's  distant  roar, 
Through  the  forest  murmuring." 


'■  §5ebolo,  |  miis  an  angel  before  tbee,  fa  keep  tbee  in  ibt  foaji."  | 

— Exod.  xxiii,  20.  AfK 

b»  Ml 


"Nay,  nay,  through  life  my  mother  says 

He  will  be  ever  nigh, 
But  I  shall  never  see  his  face 

Until  I  come  to  die, 
And  then  he'll  bear  me  in  his  arms 

Unto  our  God  on  high. " 

I  turned  me  from  that  trusting  child, 
Who  put  my  faith  to  shame, 

And  to  my  heart  these  ancient  words 
Of  holy  Scripture  came : 

"  The  angel  of  the  Lord  encamps 
Round  those  that  fear  his  name." 


4%§e  Httgel  ot  i\z  $Torb  etuampetb  roittth  about  i\tm  iljat  hnx  Irim." 
— Psa.  xxxiv,  7. 


For  Good  or  III  ? 


NLY  a  word! 

Yet  it  bore  on  its  holy  breath 

A  message  that  God  had  given 
To  kindly  warn  from  the  ways  of  Death — 
And  a  soul  was  led  to  Heaven. 

Only  a  word ! 
Spoken  in  scorn  by  lips  that  smiled, 

But  a  haunting  doubt's  black  shade 
Was  cast  in  the  trusting  heart  of  a  child, 
And  a  life-long  darkness  made. 

Only  a  word ! 
Yet  there  lay  in  its  heart,  enshrined 

Like  the  germ  of  a  tiny  seed, 
A  thought  that  fell  in  an  earnest  mind, 
And  grew  to  a  noble  deed. 


FOR  GOOD  OR  ILL? 


237  iff 


Only  a  word ! 
No  more  widely  the  ocean  parts 

Land  from  land  with  its  ebb  and  flow, 
Than  one  false  word  severed  kindly  hearts 

That  loved,  in  the  long  ago. 

Only  a  word ! 
The  whispered  "Amen"  of  a  prayer, 

But  it  flew,  like  a  swift-winged  dove, 
From  the  stormy  depths  of  a  soul's  despair, 

To  the  Father's  heart  of  love. 

Only  a  word ! 
Oh,  choose  it  wisely,  weigh  it  well ; 

Send  it  forth  with  love  and  faith ; 
It  may  be,  the  message  one  word  can  tell, 

Will  rescue  a  soul  from  death. 


"§t  foorb  spoken  in  hue  season,  jjofo  goob  is  it! " 


— Prov.  xv,  23. 


r 


Thy  Will. 


g|f  ATHER,  where'  er  my  feet  may  stray, 

Or  whether  in  the  cloud  or  sun, 
i£>,SK     Still  teach  me  trustingly  to  pray 
"  Thy  will  be  done.;' 

And  if  the  darkness  fill  the  night, 

Whenever  day  its  course  has  run  ; 
Or  whether  gloom  be  mine,  or  light, 
"Thy  will  be  done." 

I  fain  would  by  thy  hand  be  led, 

Till  at  the  last,  life's  conflict  won, 
My  trembling  lips  have  dying  said, 
"  Thy  will  be  done. " 


'  &bv  foill  bt  bone  in  earth;,  as  it  is  in  beaben. 
— Matt,  vi,  10. 


.4 


r 


THY  WILL. 


239 


And  guided  to  the  unseen  land, 

When  earth  is  past,  and  heaven  begun, 

In  thine  I  fain  would  lay  my  hand ; 
"  Thy  wilf  be  done." 

Father,  I  know  that  in  thy  care 
Are  all  my  ways.    Till  sets  life's  sun, 

O  teach  me  patiently  to  bear ! 
"Thy  will  be  done." 


— E.  NORMAN  GUNNISON. 


as  |  bill,  but  as  fyoxx  in'xlt." 
— Matt,  xxvi,  39. 


Good-Night  Wishes. 


.    BLESSING  on  my  babes  to-night : 

Mb 

Elf        A  blessing  on  their  mother  ; 
^^f5    A  blessing  on  my  kinsmen  light, 
Each  loving  friend  and  brother. 

A  blessing  on  the  toiler's  rest ; 

The  over-worn  and  weary ; 
The  desolate  and  comfortless, 
(  To  whom  the  earth  is  dreary. 


%\z  blessing  of  %  $Torb  be  upon  Don." 
— Psa.  cxxix,  8. 


it 


A  blessing  on  the  glad  to-night ; 

A  blessing  on  the  hoary ; 
The  maiden  clad  in  beauty  bright, 

The  young  man  in  his  glory. 

A  blessing  on  my  fellow-race, 

Of  every  clime  and  nation  ; 
May  they  partake  His  saving  grace 

Who  died  for  our  salvation. 

If  any  man  have  wrought  me  wrong, 

Still  blessing  be  upon  him ; 
May  I  in  love  to  him  be  strong, 

Till  charity  has  won  him. 

Thy  blessings  on  me,  from  of  old, 

My  God,  I  cannot  number  ; 
I  wrap  me  in  their  ample  fold, 

And  sink  in  trustful  slumber. 

-  THOMAS  MACKELLAR. 


No  sad  farewell  is  heard, 
No  lonely  wail  for  loving  ones  departed, 
No  dark  remorse  is  there  o'er  memories  stirred, 
No  smile  of  scorn,  no  harsh  or  cruel  word 

To  grieve  the  broken-hearted. 

No  long  dark  night  is  there, 
No  light  from  sun  or  silvery  moon  is  given ; 
But  Christ,  the  Lamb  of  God,  all  bright  and  fair, 
Illumes  the  city  with  effulgence  rare, 

The  glorious  light  of  heaven ! 

No  mortal  eye  hath  seen 
The  glories  of  that  land  beyond  that  river, 
Its  crystal  lakes,  its  fields  of  living  green, 
Its  fadeless  flowers,  and  the  unchanging  sheen 

Around  the  throne  forever. 

Ear  hath  not  heard  the  song 
Of  rapturous  praise  within  that  shining  portal ; 
No  heart  of  man  hath  dreamed,  what  joys  belong 
To  that  redeemed  and  happy  blood-washed  throng, 

All  glorious  and  immortal. 


The  Time  for  Prayer. 


i^HEN  is  the  time  for  prayer  ? 

With  the  first  beams  that  light  the  morning  sky, 
Ere  for  the  toils  of  day  thou  dost  prepare, 

Lift  up  thy  thoughts  on  high ; 
Commend  thy  loved  ones  to  His  watchful  care; 
Morn  is  the  time  for  prayer. 

And  in  the  noontide  hour, 

If  worn  by  toil,  or  by  sad  cares  oppressed, 
Then  unto  God  thy  spirit's  sorrow  pour, 

And  He  will  give  thee  rest ; 
Thy  voice  shall  reach  Him  through  the  fields  of  air 

Noon  is  the  time  for  prayer. 

When  the  bright  sun  hath  set, 

While  eve's  bright  colors  deck  the  skies ; 


& 


"Cbcntnij,  ani>  morning,  anb  at  noon,  foill  |  pran. 
— Psa.  lv,  17. 


THE  TIME  FOR  PRAYER. 


When  with  the  loved  at  home  again  thou'st  met, 

Then  let  thy  prayers  arise  ; 
For  those  who  in  thy  joys  and  sorrows  share, 

Eve  is  the  time  for  prayer. 

And  when  the  stars  come  forth — 

When  to  the  trusting  heart  sweet  hopes  are  given, 
And  the  deep  stillness  of  the  hour  gives  birth 

To  pure  bright  dreams  of  heaven ; 
Kneel  to  thy  God — ask  strength,  life's  ills  to  bear ; 

Night  is  the  time  for  prayer. 

When  is  the  time  for  prayer  ? 

In  every  hour,  while  life  is  spared  to  thee ; 
In  crowds  or  solitude,  in  joy  or  care, 

Thy  thoughts  should  heavenward  flee. 
At  home,  at  morn  and  eve,  with  loved  ones  there, 

Bend  thou  the  knee  in  prayer ! 


'  |)ratr  fottjjout  mshtg." 
— i  Thes.  v,  17. 


Rock  of  Ages. 


^OCK  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me  — 

Thoughtlessly  the  maiden  sung, 
Fell  the  words  unconsciously 

From  her  girlish,  gleeful  tongue ; 
Sang  as  little  children  sing; 

Sang  as  sing  the  birds  in  June  ; 
Fell  the  words  like  light  leaves  down 

On  the  current  of  the  tune — 
"Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee."  ' 

"Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee," 
Felt  her  soul  no  need  to  hide : 
Sweet  the  song  as  song  could  be — 
And  she  had  no  thought  beside  ; 


n  |Torb  is  mg  rock  anb  mg  fortress. 
— Psa.  xviii.  2. 


All  the  words  unheedingly 

Fell  from  lips  untouched  by  care, 

Dreaming  not  they  each  might  be 
On  some  other  lips  a  prayer — 

"Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me" — 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 

"Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me" — 

'Twas  a  woman  sung  them  now, 
Pleadingly  and  prayerfully ; 

Every  word  her  heart  did  know. 
'  Rose  the  song  as  storm-tossed  bird 

Beats  with  weary  wing  the  air, 
Every  note  with  sorrow  stirred — 

Every  syllable  a  prayer — 
"bRock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 

Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee. " 

"Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me" — 

Lips  grown  aged  sung  the  hymn 
Trustingly  and  tenderly — 

Voice  grown  weak  and  eyes  grown  dim. 
"Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee" — 

Trembling  though  the  voice  and  low, 
Ran  the  sweet  strain  peacefully, 

Like  a  river  in  its  flow. 


'Ujjr)  (Hob  is  i\z  roth  of  mg  rtfuge." 
— Psa.  xciv,  22. 


248 


ROCK  OF  AGES. 


1 


Sung  as  only  they  can  sing, 

Who  behold  the  promised  rest — 

"Rock  of  Ages  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee. " 

"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me  " — 

Sung  above  a  coffin  lid ; 
Underneath,  all  restfully, 

All  life's  joys  and  sorrows  hid. 
Never  more,  O  storm-tossed  soul, 

Never  more  from  wind  or  tide, 
Never  more  from  billow's  roll, 

Wilt  thou  need  thyself  to  hide. 
Could  the  sightless,  sunken  eyes, 

Closed  beneath  the  soft  gray  hair, 
Could  the  mute  and  stiffened  lips 

Move  again  in  pleading  prayer, 
Still,  aye,  still,  the  words  would  be, 

"Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 


"Ife  onlv  is  mn  rock  anir  m»  salbattott." 
— Psa.  lxii,  2. 


To  The  Comforter. 


1GHTY  Comforter,  to  thee 
In  our  feebleness  we  flee  ; 
Oh,  unveil  thy  gracious  face, 
Spread  out  all  thy  wondrous  grace. 

Strengthener  of  the  poor  and  weak, 
To  thy  power  for  strength  we  seek"; 
Heavenly  fulness  from  above, 
O  descend  in  blessed  love. 

Patient  Teacher  of  the  blind, 
Opener  of  the  sin-seal'd  mind, 
Fix  in  us  thy  sure  abode, 
And  reveal  the  Christ  of  God. 

Guider  of  the  erring  feet 

In  the  waste  or  busy  street, 

Lead  us  thro'  life's  Babel-crowds, 
Through  its  pathless  solitudes. 


'$  mill  not  Ieabe  now  comfortless:  $  mill  tome  to  noix. 
— John  xiv,  1 8. 


252  TO  THE  COMFORTER.  ytf 


True  Enricher  of  the  poor, 
Enter  thou  our  lowly  door ; 

Let  thy  liberal  hand  impart 

Heavenly  riches  to  our  heart. 

Looser  of  the  bonds  of  sin, 
Oh  make  haste  and  enter  in  ; 

Break  each  link,  till  there  remains 

Not  one  fragment  of  our  chains. 

Loving  Spirit,  come,  oh  come! 
Find  in  us  thy  endless  home ; 

Find  in  this  our  world  below 

A  dwelling  for  thy  glory  now. 

Holy  Light,  upon  us  shine 
With  thy  energy  divine  ;  . 

Heavenly  Brightness,  break  thou  forth 

Over  this  benighted  earth. 

With  the  eternal  Father  one, 
One  with  the  eternal  Son  ; 

Eternal  Spirit,  thee  we  praise, 

Now  and  through  eternal  days. 

— HORATIUS  BONAR,  D.  D. 


"  ijofcbcit  fobeu  he,  the  Spirit  of  truth,  is  rome,  he  fciill  guibe  you  j 
into  all  truth."— John  xvl,  13.  £ 


The  E  en  Brings  a'  Hame. 

PON  the  hills  the  wind  is  sharp  and  cold, 
The  sweet  young  grasses  wither  on  the  wold, 
And  we,  O  Lord !  have  wander'd  from  Thy  fold 
But  evening  brings  us  home. 

Among  the  mists  we  stumbled,  and  the  rocks 
Where  the  brown  lichen  whitens,  and  the  fox 
Watches  the  straggler  from  the  scattered  flocks : 
But  evening  brings  us  home. 

The  sharp  thorns  priek  us,  and  our  tender  feet 
Are  cut  and  bleeding,  and  the  lambs  repeat 
Their  pitiful  complaints — oh,  rest  is  sweet 
When  evening  brings  us  home. 

We  have  been  wounded  by  the  hunters'  darts ; 
Our  eyes  are  very  heavy,  and  our  hearts 
Search  for  Thy  coming — when  the  light  departs 
At  evening,  bring  us  home. 


"§m  b)t  like  simp  I^afrc  gone  astraij. 
— Isa.  liii,  6. 


J 


r  254 


THE  E'EN*  BRINGS  A'  HAME. 


The  darkness  gathers.    Through  the  gloom  no  star 
Rises  to  guide  us.    We  have  wander'd  far — 
Without  Thy  lamp  we  know  not  where  we  are  ; 
At  evening  bring  us  home. 

The  clouds  are  round  us,  and  the  snow-drifts  thicken : 
O  Thou,  dear  Shepherd !  leave  us  not  to  sicken 
In  the  waste  night ;  our  tardy  footsteps  quicken, 
At  evening  bring  us  home. 


"lel^olir  $,  eben  J,  fail!  hafy  smtf)  mg  sheep,  anir  seek  %m  out." 
— Ezek.  xxxiv,  n. 


The  Bird  Let  Loose, 


HE  bird  let  loose  in  eastern  skies, 
When  hastening  fondly  home, 
Ne'er  stoops  to  earth  her  wing,  nor  flies  . 

Where  idle  warblers  roam  ; 
But  high  she  shoots  through  air  and  light, 

Above  all  low  delay, 
Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  her  flight, 
Nor  shadow  dims  her  way. 

So  grant  me,  God,  from  every  care 

And  stain  of  passion  free, 
Aloft,  through  Virtue's  purer  air, 

To  hold  my  course  to  thee ! 
No  sin  to  cloud,  no  lure  to  stay 

My  soul  as  home  she  springs  ; — 
Thy  sunshine  on  her  joyful  way, 
Thy  freedom  in  her  wings ! 

— THOMAS  MOORE. 


)obo  foalketlj  uprigbtlir  shall  be  sabeb. 
— Prov.  xxviii,  18. 


Heaven  at  Last 


NGEL-VOICES  sweetly  singing, 
Echoes  through  the  blue  dome 

ringing, 
News  of  wondrous  gladness 
bringing ; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last  2 

Now,  beneath  us  all  the  grieving, 
All  the  wounded  spirit's  heaving, 
All  the  woe  of  hopes  deceiving ; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last ! 

Sin  for  ever  left  behind  us, 
Earthly  visions  cease  to  blind  us, 
Fleshly  fetters  cease  to  bind  us ; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last ! 

On  the  jasper  threshold  standing, 
Like  a  pilgrim  safely  landing, 
See,  the  strange  bright  scene  expand- 
ing; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last  I 


Heaven  at  Last 


'HAT  a  city !  what  a  glory  1 

Far  beyond  the  bright  es: 
story 

Of    the     ages    old  and 
hoary ; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last! 

Softest  voices,  silver-pealing. 
Freshest  fragrance,  spirit -healing, 
Happy  hymns  around  us  stealing ; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last! 

Gone  the  vanity  and  folly, 
Gone  the  dark  and  melancholy, 
Come  the  joyous  and  the  holy  ; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last  ] 

Not  a  broken  blossom  yonder, 
Not  a  link  can  snap  asunder, 
Stay'd    the    tempest,    sheathed  the 
thunder ; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last ! 


Not  a  tear-drop  ever  falleth, 
Not  a  pleasure  ever  palleth, 
Song  to  song  for  ever  calleth ; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last! 

Christ  himself  the  living  splendor, 
Christ  the  sunlight  mild  and  tender  ; 
Praises  to  the  Lamb  we  render; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last! 

Now  at  length  the  veil  is  rended, 

Now  the  pilgrimage  is  ended, 

And  the  saints  their  thrones  ascended ; 

Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last ! 

Broken  death's  dread  bands  that  bound  us, 
Life  and  victory  around  us  ; 
Christ,  the  King,  himself  hath  crown'd  us ; 
Ah,  'tis  heaven  at  last! 

— HORATIUS  BONAR,  D.  D. 


"§ut  jje  nxe  come  unto  mount  Utott,  anb  unto  t\z  citg  of  i\t  .ibing 
^•^K  ^ob,  i\t  I^afmiln  Jerusalem."— Heb.  xii,  22. 

&m  -J 


(3/ SB) 


4g 


ESU,  still  the  storm! 
Only  thou  hast  power, 
In  this  troubled  hour, 
To  bid  our  tremblings  cease, 
And  give  our  spirits  peace. 

Jesu,  still  the  storm! 

Speak  the  potent  word, 

"  Peace,  be  still ! "  and  then 
Calm  returns  again ; 
Each  billow  hides  its  crest, 
And  lays  itself  to  rest. 

Speak  the  potent  word ! 

Jesu,  love  us  still ! 
Oh,  love  on,  love  on, 
As  thou  hast  ever  done ; 


"§lttb  \z  arose,  anb  nlrahcb  i\z  fotno,  antr  saiir  unto  i\t  nm, 
£  ^cacc,  be  still." — Mark  iv,  39. 

Q&\  ;(^L5zx 


lXj      262  JESU,   STILL  THE   STORM.  "jij.r 


Oh  love  us  to  the  end, 
Our  one  unchanging  friend. 
Jesu,  love  us  still ! 

Jesu,  bless  us  still! 
Bless  us  on  and  on, 
Till  our  heaven  be  won  ; 
Oh  bless  us  evermore, 
On  thine  own  blessed  shore. 

Jesu,  bless  us  still ! 


— HORATIUS  EONAR,  D.  D. 


"  |f  6c&  bt  for  ns.  fcobo  ran  br  3aainst  ns  ?  " 
— Rom.  viii.  zi. 

fe,  1  


The  Grave. 


HERE  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, 
A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found, 
They  softly  lie  and  sweetly  sleep 

Low  in  the  ground. 


The  storm  that  wrecks  the  winter  sky 
No  more  disturbs  their  deep  repose, 
Than  summer-evening's  latest  sigh 
That  shuts  the  rose. 


I  long  to  lay  this  painful  head 
And  aching  heart  beneath  the  soil, 
To  slumber  in  that  dreamless  bed 
From  all  my  toil. 

For  Misery  stole  me  at  my  birth, 
And  cast  me  helpless  on  the  wild  : 
I  perish ; — O  my  Mother  Earth. 

Take  home  thy  Child ! 


On  thy  dear  lap  these  limbs  reclined 
Shall  gently  moulder  into  thee  ; 
Nor  leave  one  wretched  trace  behind 


Resembling  me. 

Hark !  a  strange  sound  affrights  mine  ear, 
My  pulse, — my  brain  runs  wild, — I  rave ; 
— Ah !  who  art  thou  whose  voice  I  hear  ? 

— "I  am  the  Grave! 

"The  Grave,  that  never  spake  before, 
Hath  found  at  length  a  tongue  to  chide ; 
O  listen !  "    "I  will  speak  no  more  : — 
Be  silent,  Pride!" 

"Art  thou  a  Wretch  of  h  pe  forlorn, 
The  victim  of  consuming  cure  ? 
Is  thy  distracted  conscience  torn 
By  fell  desp^r  ? 

*         *  *  *         *         *  * 

"A  bruised  reed  he  will  not  break ; 
Afflictions  all  his  children  feel ; 
He  wounds  them  for  his  mercy's  sake, 
He  wounds  to  heal. 


THE  GRAVE. 


265 


"There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, 
A  rest  for  weary  Pilgrims  found ; 
And  while  the  mouldering  ashes  sleep 
Low  in  the  ground, 

"The  Soul,  of  origin  divine, 
God's  glorious  image,  freed  from  clay, 
In  heaven's  eternal  sphere  shall  shine, 
A  star  of  day. 

"The  Sun  is  but  a  spark  of  fire, 
A  transient  meteor  in  the  sky ; 
The  Soul,  immortal  as  its  Sire, 
Shall  never  die." 


— JAMES  MONTGOMERY. 


fear  not  t\zm  fojritlj  kill  i\z  boon,  but  art  not  able  to  Kill  t\z 
soul."— Matt,  x,  28. 


The  Tide. 


HE  tide  is  out ! 
Low  lie  the  dank  sea-weeds.    The  life  is  gone 
That  gave  them  strength  to  rise  ;  and  now  forlorn, 

Low  from  the  rocks  they  lie, 
Waiting  in  patience  for  the  morrow  morn, 

When  strong  with  life,  and  high, 

The  tide  will  then  come  in. 


The  tide  is  out ! 
Far  out  at  sea  I  watch  the  dancing  waves 
Rising  to  meet  the  sea-gull,  as  she  laves 

In  them  her  weary  breast. 
Fearless  of  all,  the  elements  she  braves, 

Seeking  like  me  for  rest, — 

Her  tide  is  never  in. 


"Htfyen  a  man's  wags  phase  t\t  ^Tortr,  \t  maketlr  tbtn  iris  enemies  to 


THE  TIDE. 


The  tide  is  out ! 
Low,  lifeless  like  the  sea-weed,  now  I  lie, 
Wishing  that,  like  the  gull,  I  swift  could  fly 

From  'neath  the  burning  sun 
And  scorching  sands,  that  make  me  long  to  die, 

Fearing  that  I  am  one 

Whose  tide  will  ne'er  come  in. 

The  tide  is  out ! 
Sinking  upon  the  sand,  with  bended  knee ; 
The  cruel  sand  that  soon  will  bury  me, 

Unless  the  tide  will  soon  come  in ; 
With  humble  heart,  Father,  I  pray  to  Thee, 

Cleanse  me  from  grief  and  sin, 

And  make  my  tide  come  in. 

r 


The  tide  is  in ! 
Swift  surging  o'er  the  sand.    And  now  no  more 
Beside  the  barren,  desolate  sea-shore 

I  watch  the  sun-dried  rocks, 
And  think  my  life  like  theirs  is  thirsting,  sore, 

While  cooling  waters  mock — 

For  now  the  tide  is  in. 


%\z  mmt  oi  t\z  ITcrc  is  a  strong  lofosr 
into  it,  attir  is  saf«." — Pro  v. 


i\z  righteous  nmiutjj 
xviii,  10. 


§5 


The  tide  is  in ! 
My  happy  life  seems  to  me  in  its  prime, 
Full  of  sweet  hope,  whose  fruit  will  come  in  time, 

Bringing  glad  rest  and  peace. 
But  it  was  not  always  so  ;  there  was  a  time 

When  sorrows  would  not  cease, 

But  now — the  tide  is  in. 


The  tide  is  in ! 
With  grateful  heart  I  lift  mine  eyes  above 
To  Him  who  sent  the  tide,  whose  name  is  Love  j 

Who  saw  me  tired  lie 
In  a  strange  land,  like  Noah's  weary  dove, 

Not  knowing  He  was  nigh 

Who  makes  the  tide  come  in. 


The  tide  is  in ! 
And  lifting  my  drooped  head,  I  now  in  haste 
Go  forth  to  meet  my  work,  across  the  waste ; 

Eager  to  live  my  life 
As  Thou  hast  made  it,  who  gave  me  a  taste 

Of  weary  care  and  strife, 

Before  my  tide  came  in. 


"CJ)«  righteous,  anb  t\t  foise,  anb  tjmr  foorks,  an  in  t\z  \zxiis  of 

<$oc." — Eccl.  ix,  i. 
 i 


The  tide  is  in ! 
But,  ah!  the  time  will  come,  I  know  full  well, 
That  it  will  leave  me ;  when,  I  can  not  tell ; 

But  when  that  time  shall  come, 
I  pray  that  Thou  my  strong  thoughts  will  quell, 

And  take  me  to  that  home 

Where  tides  are  always  in. 

— MARY  W.  MCLAIN. 


w 

f 


Trust  in  the  Lord. 


H,  heard  ye  the  bird-song  this  morning, 
So  joyous,  so  fresh,  and  so  bright  ? 
It  ripples  as  drops  from  a  fountain, 
And  sparkles  like  stars  in  the  night. 

Notes  soft  and  low,  sweetly  blending 
With  warblings  ecstatic,  are  heard ; 
Oh,  who  did  imagine  such  rapture 
Could  dwell  in  the  breast  of  a  bird ! 

Was  ever  a  measure  so  joyous, 

So  filled  with  impassioned  delight  ? 
How  happy  if  we  could  but  catch  it, 
And  stay  the  sweet  melody's  flight. 


'Crust  in  t\z  %\sxts,  nnir  bo  goob-;  so  sbalt  tyou  irrjoell  in  t\}t  Imb 
anb  berilu  tljon  sbalt  hz  ftb." — Psa.  xxxvii,  3. 
<&&\  


TRUST  IN  THE  LORD. 


271  "| 

__ 


Again  and  again  'tis  repeated, 

From  morn  to  the  close  of  the  day, 

Though  the  wind  is  yet  cold  and  chilling, 
And  of  sunshine  there  scarce  is  a  ray. 

Have  birds  more  blessings  than  mortals, 
That  they  should  be  happier  than  we  ? 

Our  mercies  are  numbered  by  thousands — 
They  have  but  a  nest  and  a  tree. 

Have  birds  more  wisdom  than  mortals, 
More  trust  in  the  sweet  promise  given  ? 

Is  this  tender  love  but  for  sparrows  ? 
Have  we  no  kind  Father  in  heaven  ? 

We  strive  to  attain  what  we  cannot, 

Of  to-morrow  the  burden  we  bear ; 
They,  caroling  sweetly,  despair  not, 

And  pick  up  the  crumbs  with  care. 

This  the  lesson  of  life.    If  we  learn  it, 

Glad  songs  of  devotion  will  rise, 
As  we  gather  the  sweet  crumbs  of  comfort 

And  trust  to  the  God  of  the  skies. 

— MRS.   M.   M.  LYLE. 


Gfflc) 


(£rust  in  %  lior^  fmtfj  hII  tjniu  \txxt" 
— Prov.  iii,  5. 


8 


Death  Anticipated. 


'Y  GOD!  I  know  that  I  must  die," 
My  mortal  life  is  passing  hence  ; 
On  earth  I  neither  hope  nor  try 

To  find  a  lasting  residence. 
Then  teach  me  by  thy  heavenly  grace 
With  joy  and  peace  my  death  to  face. 

My  God !  I  know  not  when  I'll  die, 
What  is  the  moment  or  the  hour, 

How  soon  the  clay  may  broken  lie, 
How  quickly  pass  away  the  flower ; 

Then  may  thy  child  prepared  be 

Through  time  to  meet  eternity. 

My  God !  I  know  not  how  I  die, 
For  death  has  many  ways  to  come — 


"ifet  me  bie  fyt  beatlj  of  ibe  righteous,  anb  let  mv  last  enb  be  like 


•  Ins  •  " — Num.  xxiii,  10. 


DEATH  ANTICIPATED. 


273 


In  dark,  mysterious  agony, 

Or  gentle  as  a  sleep  to  some, 
Just  as  thou  wilt,  if  but  it  be 

Forever,  blessed  Lord,  with  thee. 

My  God !  I  know  not  where  I'll  die, 

Where  is  my  grave,  beneath  what  strand ; 

Yet  from  its  gloom  I  do  rely 
To  be  delivered  by  thy  hand. 

Content  I  take  what  spot  is  mine, 

Since  all  the  earth,  my  Lord,  is  thine. 

My  gracious  God :  when  I  must  die, 

Oh,  bear  my  happy  soul  above 
With  Christ,  my  Lord,  eternally 

To  share  thy  glory  and  thy  love  ! 
Then  comes  it  right  and  well  to  me 

When,  where  and  how  my  death  shall  be. 


u,§nt  \t  tjmt  n\s\\  zvCtsxatz  unto  t\z  znb,  i\z  mmz  slmll  hz  mbzh." 
— Matt,  xxiv,  13. 
)\  J 


To-Morrow. 


O-MORROW— mortal,  boast  not  thou 
Of  time  and  tide  that  are  not  now! 
But  think  in  one  revolving  day- 
How  earthly  things  may  pass  away! 

To-day — while  hearts  with  rapture  spring, 
The  youth  to  beauty's  lip  may  cling ; 
To-morrow — and  that  lip  of  bliss 
May  sleep  unconscious  of  his  kiss. 

To-day  the  blooming  spouse  may  press 
Her  husband  in  a  fond  caress  ; 
To-morrow — and  the  hands  that  pressed 
May  wildly  strike  her  widowed  breast. 

To-day — the  clasping  babe  may  drain 
The  milk-stream  from  its  mother's  vein, 
To-morrow — like  a  frozen  rill, 
That  bosom-current  may  be  still. 


WLz  gljoulb  not  trust  xrt  ourseIb.es,  but  in  (Sob  folnclj  ntisetjj  % 
beab." — 2  Cor.  i,  9. 


To-day — thy  merry  heart  may  feast 
On  herb,  and  fruit,  and  bird,  and  beast : 
To-morrow — spite  of  all  thy  glee, 
The  hungry  worms  may  feast  on  thee. 

To-morrow !  mortal,  boast  not  thou 
Of  time  and  tide  that  are  not  now ! 
But  think,  in  one  revolving  day, 
That  e'en  thyself  may  pass  away. 

— WM.  KNOX. 


The  Time  is  Short 


SOMETIMES  feel  the  thread  of  life  is  slender, 
And  soon  with  me  the  labor  will  he  wrought ; 
Then  grows  my  heart  to  other  hearts  more  tender. 
The  time, 
The  time  is  short. 

A  shepherd's  tent  of  reeds  and  flowers  decaying, 

That  night-winds  soon  will  crumble  into  naught ; 
So  seems  my  life,  for  some  rude  blast  delaying. 

The  time, 

The  time  is  short. 

Up,  up  my  soul !  the  long-spent  time  redeeming  ; 

Sow  thou  the  seeds  of  better  deed  and  thought ; 
Light  other  lamps  while  yet  thy  light  is  beaming. 
The  time, 

The  time  is  short.  1 


'  §ut  tins  ^  saw,  \sttt\tt\x,  i\z  time  is  sl^ort." 
— i  Cor.  vii,  29. 


THE  TIME  IS  SHORT. 


Think  of  the  good  thou  might'st  have  done  when  brightly 

The  suns  to  thee  life's  choicest  seasons  brought ; 
Hours  lost  to  God  in  pleasures  passing  lightly. 

The  time, 

The  time  is  short. 

Think  of  the  drooping  eyes  thou  might'st  have  lifted 
To  see  the  good  that  Heaven  to  thee  hath  taught ; 
The  unhelped  wrecks  that  past  life's  bark  have  drifted. 

The  time, 

The  time  is  short. 


Think  of  the  feet  that  fall  by  misdirection, 
Of  noblest  souls  to  loss  and  ruin  brought, 

Because  their  lives  are  barren  of  affection. 
The  time, 
The  time  is  short. 


The  time  is  short.    Then  be  thy  heart  a  brother's 

To  every  heart  that  needs  thy  help  in  aught ; 
Soon  thou  may'st  need  the  sympathy  of  others. 

The  time, 

The  time  is  short. 


)e  %t  lofutjj  Jus  bro%r  abifoilr  in  %  %|)t.' 
— i  John  ii,  10. 


J*     278  THE  TIME  IS  SHORT. 


If  thou  hast  friends,  give  them  thy  best  endeavor, 

Thy  warmest  impulse  and  thy  purest  thought, 
Keeping  in  mind,  in  word  and  action  ever, 
The  time, 
The  time  is  short. 


Each  thought  resentful  from  thy  mind  be  driven, 
And  cherish  love  by  sweet  forgiveness  brought ; 
Thou  soon  wilt  need  the  pitying  love  of  Heaven. 

The  time, 

The  time  is  short. 


Where  summer  winds,  aroma-laden,  hover, 

Companions  rest,  their  work  forever  wrought ; 
Soon  other  graves  the  moss  and  fern  will  cover. 

The  time, 

The  time  is  short. 


Up,  up,  my  soul !  ere  yet  the  shadow  falleth ; 

Some  good  return  in  later  seasons  wrought, 
Forget  thyself  when  duty's  angel  calleth. 

The  time, 

The  time  is  short. 


"^e  not  obtxcamt  of  th'il,  but  obtxcamz  ebil  foitlj  goofr." 

— Rom.  xii,  21.  At/rs 




THE  TIME  IS  SHORT. 


279 


By  all  the  lapses  thou  hast  been  forgiven, 
By  all  the  lessons  prayer  to  thee  hath  taught, 
To  others  teach  the  sympathies  of  heaven. 

The  time, 

The  time  is  short. 

To  others  teach  the  overcoming  power 

That  thee  at  last  to  God's  sweet  peace  hath  brought ; 
Glad  memories  make  to  bless  life's  final  hour. 

The  time, 

The  time  is  short. 

— HEZEKIAH  BUTTERWORTH. 


Homeward. 


HE  day  dies  slowly  in  the  western  sky : 

The  sunset  splendor  fades,  and  wan  and  cold 
The  far  peaks  wait  the  sunrise  ;  cheerily 

The  goatherd  calls  his  wanderers  to  the  fold. 
My  weary  soul,  that  fain  would  cease  to  roam, 
Take  comfort ;  evening  bringeth  all  things  home. 

Homeward  the  swift-winged  sea-gull  takes  her  flight ; 

The  ebbing  tide  breaks  softer  on  the  sand ; 
The  red-sailed  boats  draw  shoreward  for  the  night, 

The  shadows  deepen  over  sea  and  land. 
Be  still,  my  soul,  thine  hour  shall  also  come ; 
Behold,  one  evening,  God  shall  lead  thee  home ! 

— H.  M. 


'ifrbere  rematnetlj  therefore  h  rest  to  tb«  people  of  <l>oa." 
Heb.  iv,  9. 


Index  to  First  Lines. 


PAGE. 

A  blessing  on  my  babes  to-night,  -  240 
A  picture  memory  brings  to  me,  ...  100 

After  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day,  ...  56 
All  day  the  birds  are  singing,  as  they  flit  from  grove  and  tree,  91 


Angel  voices  sweetly  singing, 

At  dawn  of  day  when  cow-bells  ring,  - 

Bear  them  lot  from  grassy  dells, 

Behold  the  western  evening  light, 

Beyond  life's  toils  and  cares, 

By  the  wild  billows  overwhelmed, 

Childhood's  dreams,  those  beautiful  dreams, 
Cover  them  over  with  beautiful  flowers, 


Earthly  things, 


Fair  flower,  that  lapt  in  lowly  glade, 
Father,  where'er  my  feet  may  stray, 
First  Father  of  the  holy  seed, 
Fling  down  the  faded  blossoms  of  the  spring, 
For  the  wealth  of  pathless  forests, 


256 
206 
170 
215 
242 
203 

152 
141 

83 

130 

238 
124 
228 
29 


§5 


j 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES. 


PAGE. 

Gently  the  dew  falls  on  the  grass,  96 

Give  me  a  song  and  I  will  sing  it,  173 

Golden  head  so  lowly  bending,   223 

Heaven  is  not  reached  by  a  single  bound,         -  73 

How  many  of  us  have  ships  at  sea?  70 

I  go  to  life  and  not  to  death,   226 

I  have  a  bridge  within  my  heart,  23 

I  sometimes  feel  the  thread  of  life  is  slender,          -  276 

I  wandered  through  a  forest  lone,         -  233 

I  would  have  gone,  God  bade  me  stay,       -      -'      -  165 

If  all  the  pity  and  love  untold,   169 

In  some  wild  eastern  legend,  the  story  has  been  told,  65 

In  thy  closet  daily  hiding,      ------  47 

In  the  silence  of  my  chamber,          -  177 

In  the  mild  silence  of  the  voiceless  night,      -  147 

It  gently  brought  to  a  darkened  world,      -  211 

It  may  be  in  the  evening,   74 

Jesu,  still  the  storm,   261 

Just  to  let  thy  Father  do,   143 

Lead,  kindly  light !  amid  the  encircling  gloom,  -      -  205 

Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall,   120 

Lessons  sweet  of  spring  returning,    -  115 

Lo,  in  the  moonless  night,      ------  208 

Methinks  it  is  good  to  be  here,         ...      -  44 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES. 


283 


4 


'Mid  the  losses  and  the  gains,  - 
Mighty  Comforter  to  thee,  - 
My  God !  I  know  that  I  must  die, 
My  God !  is  any  hour  so  sweet,  - 

No  bird-song  floated  down  the  hill,  - 

Nobody  knows  but  Jesus,  

Not  here !  not  here !  not  where  the  sparkling  waters, 
Not  only  once  he  comes,  ----- 

O,  heard  ye  the  bird-song  this  morning, 

Oh,  I  could  go  through  all  life's  troubles  singing, 

Oh!  to  be  in  Jesus's  bosom,  - 

Oh,  Jesus  !  on  the  mountain,        ...  - 

O,  lady  fair,  these  silks  of  mine,  - 

Oh !  where  are  they  the  saintly, 

Only  a  baby  with  winsome  face,       -  - 

Only  a  mortal's  powers,  - 

Only  a  word,  

Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me,  - 

Soft  falls  through  the  gathering  twilight, 

Softly  comes  the  sunset  hour,  - 

Still  onward  through  this  land  of  foes,  - 


Tell  me  ye  winged  winds,  - 
Tell  the  fainting  soul  in  the  weary  form, 
Thank  God  that  in  life's  little  day, 
The  bell  tolls  one,    -  - 


PAGE. 

21 
251 
272 
181 

159 
136 
48 

34 

270 
41 

94 
43 
200 
190 
149 
193 
236 

246 

13 
123 
67 

155 
128 
189 
102 


PAGE. 

The  bird  let  loose  in  eastern  skies,       -  255 

The  blessings  which  the  poor  and  weak  can  scatter,  55 

The  day  dies  slowly  in  the  western  sky,    -  280 

The  fields  are  whitening  'neath  the  ripening  grain,       -  112 

The  fool  hath  said  "There  is  no  God,"     -  32 

The  night  is  dark,  but  God,  my  God,          -  134 

The  tide  is  out,         -------  266 

The  tomb  is  empty,  would'st  thou  have  it  full,  89 

The  way  is  hot,  the  way  is  long,       -  39 

There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep,    -       -       -       -  263 

There  is  no  death,  the  stars  go  down,       -  50 

They  hear  his  voice,     -------  197 

This  is  the  room  where  she  slept,      -  166 

Thou  for  Thyself  hast  made  us,          -  217 

'Tis  late  in  my  lone  chamber,           -  182 

To-morrow — mortal  boast  not  thou,     -  274 

Too  tired— to  worn  to  pray,      -----  163 

Under  the  shadow  of  His  wings,          -  81 

Upon  the  hills  the  wind  is  sharp  and  cold,        -       -  253 

What  shall  I  wish  thee?  -  '221 

What  ship  is  this  comes  sailing,        -  218 

What  though  we  suffer  while  we  stay,         ...  151 


When  fail  the  evening  shadows,  long  and  deep,  across  the  hill,  16 

When  is  the  time  for  prayer,  244 

When  light  the  purple  crocus  springs,  -  36 
When  nature  tries  her  finest  touch,  *  107 


Yes  !  faith  is  a  goodly  anchor, 


